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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139275">what resembles the grave but isn't</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/erce3/pseuds/erce3'>erce3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Community (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Scooby Doo Fusion, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Pierce is dead, Pining, Scooby Doo Style Mysteries &amp; Hijinks, They/Them Pronouns for Dean Craig Pelton, in that i dont want to write period-typical racism &amp; homophobia, well. 1969.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 01:58:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/erce3/pseuds/erce3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It comes in late August. Troy stares down at it: the cardstock invitation is gaudy, purple, and has a border with skeletons and dancing pumpkins. <i>The Hawthornes really did appreciate Halloween decal, </i> he thinks.</p><p>It reads: <i>You are cordially invited to Pierce Hawthorne’s will reading on September 10, 1969.</i><br/>*<br/>or, a scooby doo au where the study group reunites in the hawthorne mansion with no intention of solving a mystery. they get one anyway.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeff Winger &amp; the Study Group, Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>241</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. jeepers, it's the creeper!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i hope this fic is as appropriately campy as the original scooby doo series; that being said, i may not have tagged it as such, but tw: for discussions of death (particularly, pierce's death). this fic is a bit more plotty, but trobed &amp; their relationship is the main focus (esp in chapters 2-3), with a sideplot abt the study group's relationships. less serious tw for whiplash when the study group says things like "jinkies", "jeepers", and "zoinks"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>August, 1969. Coolsville, Ohio</p><p> </p><p>It comes in late August. Troy stares down at it: the cardstock invitation is gaudy, purple, and has a border with skeletons and dancing pumpkins. <em> The Hawthornes really did appreciate Halloween decal</em>, he thinks.</p><p> </p><p>It reads: <em> You are cordially invited to Pierce Hawthorne’s will reading on September 10, 1969. </em></p><p> </p><p>The gold lettering is the boss (Annie said once that it was <em> embossed, </em> which doesn’t make sense, because there’s no boss for the letters to go into), and Troy runs his fingers over them as he considers whether or not he should go. He figures he’s not the only one invited to the reading. He assumes most of Mystery, Incorporated will be there, but the thought of seeing Abed again makes him wince.</p><p> </p><p>He’d gotten a letter earlier this week about delaying the funeral another month (it would have taken place on the 30th of August) because the stars were unaligned and Space Buddha had failed to vaporize Pierce, or something. He hadn’t really been able to follow it, but he’d been immensely relieved by the opportunity to delay seeing the rest of Mystery, Inc. together.</p><p> </p><p>He squints down at the message, reading it over again. He wonders if Pierce left him a bunch of money. That sounds awesome.</p><p> </p><p>(Seeing Abed again sounds way less awesome.)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>September, 1969. Twenty minutes outside Coolsville, Ohio.</p><p> </p><p>Orange and red leaves crunch under his shoes as Jeff Winger stares up at the old mansion. It’s falling apart: the purple tiles on the roof are coming loose, and the gargoyles look weathered and droopy rather than appropriately frightening. He glances over to his right; Britta stands beside him, frowning.</p><p> </p><p>“The old man really was dedicated to the Halloween aesthetic.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well, no one said the Hawthornes had taste,” replies Jeff, looking up at the mansion with an unimpressed stare. He raises an eyebrow, then glances over to her, adding, “It’s good to see you, Britta,” just to be polite, but it’s hard to sell. He doesn’t want to see any of Mystery, Inc. at all. He just wants to take his money and leave. </p><p> </p><p>“Been a while, Winger,” she says, turning to give him a once-over. “I see you’re embracing flare pants.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. “They’re in style.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Please,” she says, “You care more about style than you do about the law. Don’t pretend like you didn’t spend an hour this morning picking them out.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I’m not a lawyer anymore,” he retorts, ignoring the jab, “I’m a <em> consultant</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tomato, <em> to-mah-to</em>.” When he looks at her, he raises both eyebrows as he recognizes she’s in bell bottom jeans as well, paired with a black flowy top. Britta’s always cared about how she looks just as much as he does; she just would never admit it. Britta sighs. “I liked you better when you had sworn to give all that stuff up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Careful, Britta,” he says, “People might think you’re anti-establishment, the way you bash on lawyers. Add a headband and they might even call you a hippie.”</p><p> </p><p>Her expression shifts to more fond than annoyed as she smiles at him. “I missed you, too, asshole.” She pulls out a folded envelope from her back pocket. It’s wrinkled, like she’s spent a lot of time carrying it around. Jeff knows what she’s holding up; he pulls out his matching envelope and flashes it at her, and she nods. “So you did decide to show up,” she remarks.</p><p> </p><p>“Money’s involved.”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t sad he’s dead.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff rounds on her, incredulous.<em> “Sad? </em> I’ve been counting down the days until Pierce Hawthorne kicked the bucket for <em> years. </em> I’m not sad, I’m overjoyed.” He pauses, then looks up at the old mansion, with its rickety front porch and broken front window. “Or as overjoyed you can be at a bequeathment in the old mansion of your dead acquaintance.”</p><p> </p><p>Britta rolls her eyes. “Friend, Jeff. He was our friend.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, he wasn’t,” replies Jeff. “Come on, let’s go in.”</p><p> </p><p>“Eager?” she asks, smirking. “You’re the same money-obsessed asshole, aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yup,” he says, walking towards the house. “And proud of it.”</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes again, and follows behind as they approach the front door. They pause on the front steps, uncertain; a crow caws in the background, perched on a nearby tree. </p><p> </p><p>“Imagine living here,” mutters Britta to herself, kicking at a pebble on the porch with her sandal. “It must have been so creepy.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff makes a noise of agreement, brushing a cobweb out of his way and ducking slightly to avoid getting dust in his perfectly gelled hair. He pauses, then. “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for the old man,” he says, taking the clawed knocker in his hand. “He was an ass.”</p><p> </p><p>“Our ass, though,” says Britta.</p><p> </p><p>He snorts. “Britta, he constantly made fun of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You made fun of me, too,” points out Britta. “None of you guys ever took me seriously.”</p><p> </p><p>“At least I actually respected you.” A beat. “Abed took you seriously.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not really,” says Britta, and points at the knocker that’s resting in Jeff’s hand, poised above the door. “You gonna knock, or are we just gonna wait until his ghost lets us in?”</p><p> </p><p>He makes a face at her, and brings down the knocker to make three loud bangs. On the third, the door swings inward with a creek, and Jeff frowns at it. Britta pauses, too, studying the frame. “Sheesh,” she says, “you’d think someone would have built this door better for its frame. I mean, it’s not even in keeping with the color scheme.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Britta. What do you know about house maintenance?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, because I don’t have one?” She frowns at him, this time her face falling a little bit, and stalks into the house. “This is why we aren’t friends anymore,” she calls behind her, walking through the halls as she starts searching for the parlor.</p><p> </p><p>The inside of the house is as rundown as the outside. The photos in the hallway are dusty, and a few of the glass casings are cracked; their metal frames are dull. The lights flicker slightly, and the tacky art deco wallpaper is peeling. There’s even an ugly troll figurine on the shelves. “This place is disgusting,” says Jeff to himself, running a finger along a wooden bookshelf and wincing as it comes back grey with dust and soot.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long to find the parlor, though; even if it’s been a year or two, Jeff remembers this mansion pretty well. By the time he gets there, Britta’s disappeared—she’s always had less of a sense of direction than he does. It used to be almost comical, how easily Britta could get turned around.</p><p> </p><p>Now, it just annoys him. He turns to find her, and swears. “Crap.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>The sound makes him jump. He whirls, searching for the source, and—</p><p> </p><p>His eyes land on Annie Edison, a year or so older but very much the same: she’s in a lilac button up with a dark plum sleeveless dress over it. She’s sitting on a patterned couch, legs crossed primly, eyeing him with the hurt air and round eyes that she’s always been good at wielding like a weapon.</p><p> </p><p>“Annie,” says Jeff, frowning.</p><p> </p><p>She sniffs. “Good to see the only time you show up for your friends is when there’s money involved.”</p><p> </p><p>“God, you sound like Shirley,” snaps Jeff, crossing his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you don’t mean that, Jeffery,” says a low voice from the hallway, and when he turns, it’s Shirley looking down at him, disappointed. As she approaches the parlor, she spots Annie and her expression shifts. All of a sudden, Jeff is invisible and Shirley practically glows, beaming. “Annie!”</p><p> </p><p>“Shirley!” squeals Annie, jumping up from her position on the tacky floral couch and practically running into Shirley’s arms for a hug. “I missed you so much! How’s your diner, your kids?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” coos Shirley, “They’ve gotten so big! It’s really a shame you never visited.”</p><p> </p><p>“You were always so busy,” counters Annie, “and our schedules never lined up.” At that, she wilts a little bit, tugging at her hair like she feels guilty, then frowns and brightens again as she looks over Shirley. “But we’re both here now! I want to hear how you’ve been doing!” She pauses, and gasps, “Do you have any pictures of your kids?”</p><p> </p><p>“I do,” replies Shirley warmly, pulling out her wallet. “I keep some polaroids with me,” she says, smiling, and Annie crowds her space to ‘aww’ at the pictures.</p><p> </p><p>“Good to see you both, too,” Jeff says stiffly.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the one who said you didn’t want to see us again,” snaps Annie, looking up. “Don’t get all guilt-trippy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you mean like you and Shirley?”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley gasps. “Jeffery!”</p><p> </p><p>“See, you say things like that and then wonder why no one missed you,” replies Annie, turning and shoving a finger into his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“I missed him,” says another voice. Shirley turns, and then so does Jeff: it’s Abed, hair a little longer and curlier, in a mustard striped cardigan. He gives Jeff a closed mouth smile that’s really more just him pressing his lips together into a line, then waves to everyone. “We can be mad at him and miss him at the same time.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Abed!” cries Shirley, running over to wrap him in a hug. “How are you?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I saw you just last month,” says Abed, matter of fact. “Nothing’s changed.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t know you were visiting Shirley,” says Annie, crossing her arms.</p><p> </p><p>“No hug for Abed? What, are you two mad at each other?” asks Jeff, looking between Abed and Annie.</p><p> </p><p>“She was my ride,” replies Abed, pointing to Annie. “I just left the parlor to go poke around. Really creepy stuff. This could be the start of a Agatha Christie novel.”</p><p> </p><p>Annie’s eyes go wide, and she bounces on her feet. “Oh! I love her stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” says Abed. “You leave her books around the apartment. I think we could fit into the narrative pretty well; we’re a diverse group, we’ve got tension, we’re basically investigating the murder of the heir of Hawthorne Wipes, even if we’re not doing it officially yet. It could make a very appealing story.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” says Jeff, “You’re living together?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Shirley makes a noise of disapproval.</p><p> </p><p>Abed and Annie both nod, ignoring Shirley.</p><p> </p><p>“Right. And Abed’s still on the movie gimmick?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been expanding to books,” says Abed, shrugging. “Annie and I have been getting recommendations from the nice librarian as our local library.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff raises an eyebrow. “Mariah?”</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know any librarians?” asks Annie. “I know for a fact you never actually read. It’s too much work.” The last sentence she says in a mocking tone as she crosses her arms again; Abed looks to her and nods with certainty, making a finger gun in her direction to indicate he agrees with her.</p><p> </p><p>“I slept with her,” replies Jeff, getting a whack on the shoulder from Shirley.</p><p> </p><p>“Jeffery!”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool. Cool cool cool,” says Abed, nodding towards Jeff with an impressed air. And then, “Where’s Britta?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“That’s what I was trying to figure out,” says Jeff. “I came in with her, but I forgot that someone has to keep an eye on her at all times or she’ll disappear.”</p><p> </p><p>They all groan. Britta and Abed were always like that: the first to disappear in a potentially dangerous situation, whether it be because a church or house or school or mine was haunted, or because they were in serious states of disrepair. Abed just liked to explore, whereas Britta just got lost.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe I still have to babysit her,” grumbles Jeff. “It’s been a year.”</p><p> </p><p>“More than a year,” corrects Abed. “We should go find her.”</p><p> </p><p>“The bequeather should be here by now,” points out Annie. “If none of us are here, they might leave.” She pulls out her envelope, and hands it to Abed. “It says that we need to be here on time or we won’t be able to attend the reading of the will.” She frowns. “I think that was mostly just to make sure Jeff wasn’t late, on second thought.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Even still,” says Shirley. “I don’t want to miss anything because Britta got lost.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” says Jeff, “Where’s Troy? Didn’t he come with you guys?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Shirley shakes her head. “I haven’t seen Troy in a couple months. Only Abed comes to visit me.”</p><p> </p><p>“It has been a year since you all saw each other,” says Jeff. “It’s only natural you’d all drift.”</p><p> </p><p>“More than a year,” says Abed again.</p><p> </p><p>“You could have reached out yourself, you know,” Annie says, frowning. “I did try to visit.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, An-nie. But Jeffery never did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jeff’s an asshole,” replies Abed. “But we knew that. We spent three years solving mysteries with him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Three and a half,” corrects Annie. “If you’re going to be specific about time, we should at least also be specific about how long Mystery, Inc. lasted. And it lasted three and a half years.” She looks meaningfully at Abed, who shrugs. “And to answer your question, Jeff, Troy didn’t come with us. We haven’t seen him in…”</p><p> </p><p>“Seven months,” says Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“Seven months,” repeats Annie.</p><p> </p><p>“You mean, Troy and Abed aren’t friends anymore?” cries Jeff, looking over to Abed, who shrugs, and then frowning down at Annie. “And you <em> let </em> that happen?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t ‘let’ anything happen, Jeff,” she sniffs. “Abed’s his own person, and so is Troy. Ask Abed about it if you’re so curious.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Shirley nods. “Besides, if they choose not to talk about it, it’s not our job to pry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that is <em> rich, </em> coming from you,” snaps Jeff.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what you mean,” replies Shirley in a low voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you kidding me? You’re always gossiping and prying!” snaps Jeff, and Annie’s frown deepens.</p><p> </p><p>“You really shouldn’t say things like that, Jeff,” says Annie, crossing her arms. “We’re not friends anymore. What was teasing is now just plain mean.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Good,” replies Jeff, and then stomps over to the couch. “Let’s just wait for whoever Pierce hired.” He sits down on a nearby armchair with more force than he means to, then crosses his arms and places his feet on the coffee table, trying not to look so worked up. He glances around at the parlor, which has just a bit of sunlight coming through a cracked window, and pauses. “Hey, where’s Abed?”</p><p> </p><p>“Again?” cries Annie, also looking around. “Abed!” she calls.</p><p> </p><p>“That boy always wanders off,” sighs Shirley unhappily, and sits down on the couch, placing her bag on her knees.</p><p> </p><p>“He’ll be fine,” says Jeff, pulling out a newspaper from his back pocket. “Look, Annie, I do read.”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t see her roll her eyes, but he knows she’s doing it. Instead, he inspects the room as they fall into an uncomfortable silence. It’s just as dusty as the rest of the house. The only thing clean in the room is the portrait sitting over the mantel; the portrait is of Pierce, unsmiling, but in his early forties, maybe. He doesn’t look so disheveled or old as he did when the rest of Mystery, Inc. knew him.</p><p> </p><p>“Bastard,” mutters Jeff up at him, then returns to his newspaper.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Troy walks up to the mansion and inspects it, frowning. <em> It’s really fallen apart since he moved out and Pierce died, huh? </em> The grounds are growing out of control, too. The hedges lost all their shape and stopped looking like those super awesome cubes and bears, and have become more like lopsided spheres.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff’s car is parked in the driveway, as are a couple other cars Troy doesn’t recognize. The only one he recognizes is Jeff’s. It’s mostly because Jeff has always been proud of the sleek black sports car and had made a point of showing it off; Troy’s pretty sure it was the only thing that Jeff could keep from his old, sleazy lawyer life.</p><p> </p><p>That’s what Britta would say, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>He thumbs his invitation as he walks up to the house. The door is slightly ajar; it looks slightly different from how he remembers it. This whole thing is weird. Troy doesn’t want to see anyone from Mystery, Inc., and he especially doesn’t want to see them under the circumstances of Pierce’s weird will-reading party. Whatever <em> that </em> means. </p><p> </p><p>Since it seems he’s the last one here, he allows himself an extra moment outside to steady himself. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous.</p><p> </p><p>Pierce is <em> dead. </em> He should probably be sad.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, judging by the last thing Pierce said to him, Troy’s less than sad about the whole dying thing. He is sad. He’s just… also mad? And frustrated? And really, really doesn’t want to be here, because Abed’s probably here, and in reality he’s more freaked out about alive Abed than dead Pierce.</p><p> </p><p>Though now that he’s thinking about it, Pierce <em> would </em> haunt them. The old man was petty enough to. So maybe Troy should be nervous about Pierce haunting them over Abed not talking to him. He’s not talking to Abed either, anyway. It’s <em> Abed </em> who should be nervous, not Troy, because <em> Troy </em> is the one who’s angry.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah. Abed should be nervous.</p><p> </p><p>Troy should be on the lookout for ghosts.</p><p> </p><p>He walks in.</p><p> </p><p>All in all, the place isn’t terrible. He does walk in and immediately sneeze because of the dust. (He has hay fever, it’s not his fault, and his sneeze does <em> not </em> sound like a girl’s.) But it is, functionally, the same as he remembers it: the hallway is still decorated like Pierce ripped his taste right out of the 1920s, except also with that spooky tint that’s always given Troy the creeps.</p><p> </p><p>He continues down the hall, doing his best not to look at the pictures, but he still feels the weight of their gaze on his back. He’s pretty sure that the Hawthornes took pictures so that they would look like their eyes moved to follow you. It’s something Pierce would do, anyway, so it makes sense.</p><p> </p><p>As he walks, he spots the evil troll Pierce always insisted to keep up, and stops. “Hello, old enemy,” he says quietly, turning to inspect it. </p><p> </p><p>It stares at him, unblinking and creepy.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks about eating it—he knows that’s the only way to defeat a troll, but he’s not sure if that’s respectful to Pierce. Pierce would be pretty upset if he found out, but Pierce <em> is </em>dead. Wait. What if eating the troll makes Pierce haunt him? He can’t really handle a ghost Pierce right now, especially if the troll puts up a fight. </p><p> </p><p>He frowns.</p><p> </p><p>The troll blinks at him, once.</p><p> </p><p>He jumps back, panicked. “Jeepers!” he cries, feeling stressed tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes. He must have imagined it. There’s no way the troll blinked at him. It never did when he lived here.</p><p> </p><p>He begins to back up, but only succeeds in walking into a bookshelf and hitting the back of his head with a <em> WHACK. </em> He curses and ducks, feeling his throbbing skull. “You did this,” he hisses, and the troll continues to stare, unblinking. He’s pretty sure he imagined it by now. He’s just freaked out because Pierce could be a ghost.</p><p> </p><p>That’s all.</p><p> </p><p>(Right?)</p><p> </p><p>He’s turning, and then he sees the troll’s pupils actually <em> slide </em> towards him, and he shrieks. They stay there, trained on him.</p><p> </p><p>“Troy?” says a voice up ahead.</p><p> </p><p>He jumps and shouts. “Stay back!” he cries, whipping his arms up into fists. </p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>His gaze lands on—Britta, actually, looking freaked out. “Troy, are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“The troll <em> blinked </em> at me,” he says, suddenly feeling stupid. “And its eyes moved!”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” says Britta, slow, like she doesn’t believe him.</p><p> </p><p>He feels a pang of annoyance. Of course she doesn’t. Britta never believed him. No one did, really, except for Abed, but Abed’s—</p><p> </p><p>It’s complicated. He doesn’t want to think about it, or his brain will start crying and he might also start crying, and that would suck. “Whatever,” he says, instead. “I think I’m just freaked out ‘cause Pierce is dead. I never thought it would happen.” He pauses, and adds, “Plus, it’s weird being back here.”</p><p> </p><p>“I forgot you lived with him,” Britta replies, suddenly looking abashed. “I’m sorry, Troy. I should have believed you.”</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head. “I know you’re only saying that to be nice.”</p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes. “It’s nice to see you, too.”</p><p> </p><p>He glances back to the troll, but it’s returned to normal, so he turns to Britta and walks towards her. “It is nice to see you, actually,” he says, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants and inhaling. “How are you? I know it’s only been a couple months, but you look good.” He gives her jeans a nod. “I like the bell bottoms. They suit you.” He frowns, wracking his brain for what Britta’s doing now. “Is the animal shelter working out okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you remembered!” gasps Britta, pleased.</p><p> </p><p>Troy gives her a thumbs up. “You told me about it last time we got high.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t tell Shirley,” says Britta darkly, walking up to him to give him a long hug. “I’ve really missed you, Troy, seriously.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t miss this,” says Troy, sweeping his hand around the hall. “This place gives me the creeps.”</p><p> </p><p>“Me, too,” she admits. “And I can never find anything.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“When I first moved in, I had to put up signs,” responds Troy, in part to make her feel better. “But then Pierce made me memorize a tour, and then I didn’t need the signs anymore.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Britta frowns at him. “A tour?” She scoffs. “And here I was, feeling bad for the asshole. You know who showed up, by the way?” She bumps Troy with her hip.</p><p> </p><p>Troy freezes, suddenly feeling his stomach twist. “No?” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as panicked as he is. His palms are clammy again; he wipes them on his pants and suddenly the floor is way more interesting than searching Britta’s face. <em> Please don’t say Abed, </em> he thinks, <em> please don’t say Abed, please don’t— </em></p><p> </p><p>“Jeff Winger!”</p><p> </p><p>He relaxes, then angers again. “Really?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“He follows the money,” Britta replies darkly, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. She leans closer to Troy, expression becoming disgusted as she whispers, “Did you know he’s in consulting?” in a tone that indicates she thinks Troy will be equally disappointed and annoyed by this information.</p><p> </p><p>“You can make a job out of insulting people’s cons?!” cries Troy. “Why didn’t I know about that?!”</p><p> </p><p>Britta frowns at him. “Sometimes, Troy, you’ve got to be kidding.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
He folds his arms. “You’re right,” he says, “Jeff would never be that awesome.”</p><p> </p><p>“Consulting is like being a lawyer without any of the qualifications,” says Britta, eventually, in her gentle tone of voice that makes Troy feel babied without knowing why.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” says Troy, sighing. “So he’s Evil Jeff again.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
He begins to guide her down the halls to the parlor, and stops to inspect a mirror. “It’s Abed’s thing,” he says. “It’s kinda stupid, actually.” In the mirror, his reflection’s expression drops. He drags a finger across the surface, clearing a stripe of dust. He watches through the mirror as Britta’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. </p><p> </p><p>“You’d never call Abed stupid,” she says, slow and confused.</p><p> </p><p>He opens his mouth to say, <em> Abed and I aren’t friends anymore, </em> but is distracted by a flash of light; he flicks his eyes to his right and sees— <em> Pierce’s image </em> hovering in the background of the mirror. “Jeepers!” he cries again, whirling around, and sees only Britta’s concerned expression and an empty hallway. “I thought I saw something…”</p><p> </p><p>“Troy,” she begins, in her therapist voice.</p><p> </p><p>Troy holds up his hand to shush her, and shakes his head for good measure. She sighs and nods, shutting her mouth. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on,” he says. “The parlor’s this way.”</p><p> </p><p>They walk the next couple minutes in silence as Troy leads the way and Britta trails behind him. He feels a little guilty, since Britta’s the only one Troy kinda sorta stayed in contact with, but he figures Britta will forgive him for being testy. She’s good at figuring out other people’s emotions. </p><p> </p><p>When they walk into the parlor, they’re met with three pairs of eyes on them: Jeff is sitting in Pierce’s old armchair, his feet propped up on the coffee table, looking at them from his newspaper; Annie squeals and waves hello from her seat on the couch; and Shirley, on the other end of the couch, beams at him. </p><p> </p><p>They all look pretty similar, all things considered. Jeff is in a navy button down and flare pants, Annie’s still got her hair clipped back in that familiar way, and Shirley’s in a blue dress with that familiar black bag she always carried with her. The only difference is the way they look at him, like he’s a stranger, or maybe an old friend. Certainly not a family member.</p><p> </p><p>“Troy!!” says Annie, leaping up to hug him. “And Britta!!”</p><p> </p><p>“Hel-lo,” trills Shirley, waving from her seat on the couch. </p><p> </p><p>Jeff sets down his newspaper. “You found Britta. Congrats.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ignore him,” says Annie. “He’s just grumpy because he’s facing the consequences of being a jerkwad and no one’s excited to see him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jerkwad?” repeats Jeff, mocking. “How old are you, sixteen?”</p><p> </p><p>“Humph,” replies Annie, crossing her arms and spinning on her heels away from Jeff. Shirley narrows her eyes and gives him a look of disapproval, shaking her head before mirroring Annie’s gesture, crossing her arms and turning away. “Anyways,” says Annie, “I really missed you! How have you been?”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” says Troy, his mouth suddenly dry. “Shirley, how are your kids?”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley beams. “They’re very good. Elijah wants to be a plumber for halloween now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Plumber?” asks Britta.</p><p> </p><p>“Troy repaired my sink two months ago. For free,” says Shirley. “The boys were very taken with him.” She turns to Troy. “You should visit more often. I will bake you brownies.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re spending your retirement from solving mysteries doing <em> plumbing</em>?” snarks Jeff in the corner.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” says Troy, shrinking into himself. “I’m also doing A/C repair.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off, Jeff,” snaps Britta. “That a strong enough sentiment for you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t usually agree with cursing,” adds Shirley primly, “But I think Britta’s right.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Shirley,” Britta says, surprised.</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, you guys,” says Annie, “I’ve missed you all. Except maybe Jeff.” She turns to Jeff and looks disappointed. “Jeff, you’re really souring this reunion. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen everyone!!” She sighs and turns back to the group. “You all have to tell me what you’re doing. We should also organize coffee,” she adds, digging in her purse for what Troy knows is her planner “—so we don’t go this long...”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s nice,” agrees Shirley, moving towards her own purse for her own planner. “We could do once a month at my diner?”</p><p> </p><p>“Britta? Troy?” Annie asks, looking up from her purse. “How does that sound?”</p><p> </p><p>“How does what sound?” says a new voice. Troy whirls, and sees two figures in the doorway. One is so familiar his stomach sinks. The other is the speaker, bald and in what Troy thinks is a women’s pantsuit. They smile and give everyone a little wave. “You were right, Abed, they are all here,” they say, turning to Abed beside them, “That’s good. It’ll speed things up.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed nods. He scans over the room, gaze catching on Troy for a beat longer than everyone else. Troy feels suddenly winded; Abed looks good, in a cardigan and converse and hair curling at the back of his neck. His eyes are dark and mysterious as he surveys Troy, and he nods subtly, to indicate something Troy can’t figure out.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m Craig Pelton,” says the figure beside Abed. “I was hired by Pierce.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no way in Hell you’re a lawyer,” says Jeff, placing his newspaper down. “I know every lawyer in a thirty-mile radius.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not,” says Craig. “My friend Frankie Dart is handling the law specifics.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff hisses and recoils as if burned by the name. “Frankie? She’s basically a glorified accountant. She’s not a lawyer!”</p><p> </p><p>“Would you rather it be Alan?” points out Annie, rolling her eyes. “He used to represent Pierce, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a collection of groans that affirms that everyone does, in fact, remember Alan. “No one should allow you near chloroform again,” says Troy, closing his eyes as he remembers the terrifying experience. When he opens them, Abed’s nodding vigorously, which makes his stomach twist.</p><p> </p><p>“I said I’m sorry!” replies Annie hotly.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” says Troy, giving her another hug. </p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes fondly at him.</p><p> </p><p>“We should all sit down,” says Abed, and walks over next to where Annie was sitting. They all nod in agreement; Britta takes the armchair across from Jeff, and Shirley moves to the other end of the couch, where she was originally sitting.  Annie also takes her original spot, leaving a small space for Troy next to Abed.</p><p> </p><p>He stares at the space uncomfortably. “Should I stand?” he asks in a quiet voice.</p><p> </p><p>Abed blinks. “For visual symmetry, you should sit.” He pauses. “Actually, it could indicate some kind of tension, but I think Craig standing over us is a better indicator of the scene.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” says Craig, “I think we’re waiting on one more person, so you all should sit.”</p><p> </p><p>Troy squints at them for a moment, then shrugs and goes to sit next to Abed. The couch isn’t really built for four people, so he’s pressed into Abed and Shirley’s side. Shirley gives him a rub on his back, smiling, and Troy tries to give her a tight-lipped smile in response, but he’s distracted by the press of his thigh against Abed’s.</p><p> </p><p>Abed barely looks at him, studying Craig instead, and Troy suddenly feels uncertain of where to put his hands. When he folds them on his lap, his shoulder brushes Abed’s, and he wants to flinch away; when he shrinks into himself, he just feels awkward and uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to have his arms hover at his chest, though, or place them along the back of the couch, because he doesn’t want to look like he’s making a move for Abed, either.</p><p> </p><p>He ends up putting his hands on his knees and trying his best not to notice the fact his shoulder is touching Abed’s, which really means he notices it a lot.</p><p> </p><p>He turns to Craig, who is pacing awkwardly. “We’re waiting on one Ben Chang,” they say, looking over their papers and counting heads.</p><p> </p><p>“Chang?!” cries the group in unison. </p><p> </p><p>“I know Pierce did not bequeath <em> Chang </em> something,” Shirley says darkly.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing? Trying to guilt Pierce from beyond the grave?” replies Jeff, raising his perfectly manicured eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Jeff,” says Britta as Shirley does the sign of the cross, shaking her head at him.</p><p> </p><p>“But our invitations said if we were late, we opted out of our bequeathments,” points out Abed, raising his index finger. The movement jostles Troy’s arm, causing Troy to start thinking about how close they’re sitting again.“I know that was mostly a measure to make sure Jeff showed up on time, but I figured that since it was written on everyone’s invitations that it still applied to everyone.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a rustling of paper. Eventually, Craig replies, “Apparently Chang is exempt from that,” as they frown down at their documents.</p><p> </p><p>The group all groans in unison.</p><p> </p><p>“So he's going to make us wait,” sighs Annie. “I can’t believe Pierce even wrote him into the will. I thought he and Pierce hated each other!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, he was a pretty useless cop,” says Britta a little wistfully at the mention of Chang, and Troy can tell from the look on her face she’s thinking about her anarchist relationship with Chang. Jeff glances over to her, and his face twists as he probably thinks about it as well. To Craig, Britta adds, “He tased me once.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my,” says Craig.</p><p> </p><p>Troy decides to ignore Britta and turns to Annie. “Chang and Pierce had a weird hate/love relationship,” he explains to her, except it’s kind of awkward, because he’s speaking through Abed, who’s taller than both of them. “He used to come over a lot when I lived with Pierce.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” says Shirley primly, which probably means something, because everyone’s faces change, but Troy doesn’t really know what. Abed looks confused, too, in that he studies everyone’s faces and looks annoyed that he can’t replicate them.</p><p> </p><p>They all settle into an uncomfortable silence for a while. Troy is trying not to look at Abed, or really think about him too hard. Annie is looking expectantly at Craig and so he can’t make eye contact with her. Britta’s chewing a piece of her hair (gross!) in thought as she studies Jeff, and Shirley is fiddling with something in her bag.</p><p> </p><p>Craig keeps looking around, then at their wristwatch, then at Annie nervously, and then back at their wristwatch.</p><p> </p><p>Troy finds himself staring at Pierce’s unsmiling portrait, if only for something to do. It’s just as creepy as he remembers it.</p><p> </p><p>“This is probably an elaborate scheme to get back at all of us,” Jeff says eventually, relaxing in his armchair.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say that,” says Annie immediately. “He’s still dead, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“He was an asshole,” snaps Jeff. “Why does everyone keep defending him?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not defending him,” Shirley replies in her lilting tone. “We’re being <em> respectful</em>.” She pauses, and in a darker tone, she adds, “You should try it sometime.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” says Jeff, rolling his eyes. He checks his watch, which looks expensive. “I haven’t got forever.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, now you’re on a time limit?” cries Britta, “But you still drove thirty minutes out of your way to get what you hope is money from our dead friend? You can’t wait ten more minutes for Chang to show up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Chang is insane,” retorts Jeff. “For a couple hours—and yes, Britta, in hopes of a paycheck—I can <em> maybe </em> handle whatever you all are doing—” he waves his hand in their direction, pausing for a moment to glance between Troy and Abed with an unreadable expression “—but it’s asking a lot of me to handle <em> Chang </em>as well.”</p><p> </p><p>“I miss when you were nice,” sighs Troy. “Plus, I don’t wanna wait either, but I’m not complaining, and I’m pretty sure this house is haunted.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff sneers. “I was never nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re closer to Evil Jeff than you were,” points out Abed. </p><p> </p><p>“What does that—you know what? I don’t want to know.” Jeff crosses his arms and stares down at Abed. “Besides, you all showed up for the same thing I did. At least I’m honest about my greediness and not making false promises of getting coffee once a month.” </p><p> </p><p>Annie gasps offendedly, and Shirley shakes her head.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, come on, you guys <em> have </em> to know that it’s never going to happen.”</p><p> </p><p>“It might!” says Annie, folding her arms. “Not that you’d ever know, since you’re not invited.”</p><p> </p><p>He rolls his eyes, and opens his mouth to retort something that’s probably clever, when—</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, has Jeff Winger upset Mystery Inc.?” calls a voice from the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>It’s Chang. He’s in uniform, even though Troy’s <em> pretty sure </em> he’s not a cop anymore; he slouches in the doorway, eyes darting around the room. Troy swears he hears a crow caw as he enters, smirking slightly. “Didn’t know you guys could handle being in the same room together anymore,” he says, shrugging.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off,” says Britta, scowling.</p><p> </p><p>“So we’re all here?” says Craig nervously.</p><p> </p><p>Chang nods in their direction and walks over to the unsmiling portrait of Pierce Hawthorne, before the dude got, like, bald and stuff. He leans against the mantle, crossing his arms. “Hit us with the money,” Chang says, a slow smirk growing on his face. Except it doesn’t look much like a smirk as it does a deranged smile, but Troy’s pretty sure Chang’s trying to smirk.</p><p> </p><p>Hard to tell, with Chang.</p><p> </p><p>“Pierce requested I read some things to you guys before I give you anything,” Craig begins, twitching nervously. “Fair warning, they’re really mean.” They make a face down at their lap, as if pleading with the papers to change. Troy’s not judging; he’s seen weirder stuff than letters rearranging. “I don’t want to read them, but I have to, so I figured I’d warn you all before I started, so if anyone wants to leave—”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” offers Annie. “I think we all expected this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” adds Chang. “Just hurry up. We all knew the old man was an asshole and I have nothing to hide.”</p><p> </p><p><em> “AN ASSHOLE?” </em> booms a voice above them that sounds suspiciously like Pierce’s, only distorted. <em> “I’LL KILL YOU, CHANG.” </em></p><p> </p><p>They all gasp and turn towards the source of the voice, but there’s nothing there. “Jinkies!” cries Annie as Troy peers up at the rafters of the roof, hoping maybe there’s a mini Pierce hiding up there with a megaphone. </p><p> </p><p>There isn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“Jinkies?” sneers Jeff. “Really, Annie?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” Annie replies hotly.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, the room begins to fill with fog; it’s cold and moist and hard to breathe. Troy feels his insides slick with fear, reaching out to grab Abed beside him and holding tight. “I <em> told </em> you guys this place was haunted!” he cries, looking around the room as everyone’s faces get harder to make out from the swirling purple fog. </p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t paying attention,” says Abed. “I would have said I believed you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m too afraid to be mad at you right now, but I’m still mad,” Troy informs him, squishing closer into Abed’s side.</p><p> </p><p>Abed cocks his head, frowning, and then nods, taking Troy’s shoulder and holding him close. “Cool,” he says in a toneless way that means he’s upset, “cool cool cool.” </p><p> </p><p>His eyes are darting around, trying to find the source of the fog; the edges of the room are already blurry and hard to see. Troy feels a little dizzy.</p><p> </p><p>“Pierce?!” cries Troy from his spot in Abed’s arms. “We’re sorry!”</p><p> </p><p><em> “YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN SORRY A LONG TIME AGO,” </em> booms the disemboweled voice (“You mean disembodied,” Abed will correct him later, and Troy will scowl). <em> “NOW I WILL RISE FROM THE GRAVE AND HAVE MY REVENGE.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“As a ghost, do you rise from the grave? Genre-wise, that’s more of a vampire or zombie thing,” Abed says, directing his gaze at the portrait, which is partially hidden in the mist so that Troy only gets flashes of painted-Pierce’s hair, and eyes, and severe mouth. He frowns, and looks over to the window; he’s still searching for a source of the sound.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh God, is Pierce a vampire?” wimpers Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Abed. Troy, Pierce isn’t a vampire. He’s <em> dead. </em> This is all probably prerecorded, or something. You’d think the two of you would have picked that up by now, since we spent so much time together literally debunking supernatural events,” snaps Jeff, who is partially hidden from the fog. Troy can just barely see his shiny black shoes.</p><p> </p><p>“Ooh!” gasps Annie suddenly, clapping her hands together excitedly and startling Abed. The mist swirls around her hands, clearing somewhat at the movement. “And the fog could be from a fog machine!!”</p><p> </p><p>The house groans as she says this, shaking slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you sound so happy??” cries Troy, leaning into Abed. (Abed, he notes, still smells like laundry detergent and Special Drink.)</p><p> </p><p>“I do not like this,” mutters Shirley beside him, doing the sign of Christ again.</p><p> </p><p>He can just make out Britta rolling her eyes. “Maybe Pierce has some unfinished business, Jeff! We should respect that he needs an apology.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s <em> dead, </em> Britta,” retorts Jeff.</p><p> </p><p><em> “SHUT UP!” </em> bellows Pierce’s ghostly voice, and the fog begins to whirl. <em> “YOU GUYS NEVER APPRECIATED ME WHILE I WAS ALIVE. AND YOU’RE GOING TO REGRET THAT NOW.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“I don’t doubt that,” Shirley says to herself.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the fog begins to whirl faster, and Pierce’s voice shifts into a cackle. Troy whimpers again, and Abed pats his arm comfortingly, using his other hand to take Troy’s left hand and squeezing three times. The gesture is familiar; Abed used to do it when they were solving mysteries and Troy got particularly freaked out.</p><p> </p><p> “We’re not afraid of you!” shouts Britta. “This just feels like a high-powered fan!”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Britta!” hisses Annie.</p><p> </p><p>The air begins to whip around their heads; the fog is beginning to worsen as Pierce cackles so loudly it starts to make Troy’s head hurt. The house itself begins to creak, and Annie also makes a sharp noise of fear, leaning against Abed’s other side. At this point, Troy can barely see her.</p><p> </p><p>He hides his eyes by burying his head into Abed’s shoulder. (Abed smells really good, he notes kind of distantly, and then reminds himself that he <em> might die </em> and there are a lot more important things going on, and also he’s mad at Abed, remember??)</p><p> </p><p>He jumps as there’s a sudden loud CRACK, jolting as he tears his gaze up back to the parlor, but can’t make out anything besides blurry figures. And then—</p><p> </p><p>Someone screams.</p><p> </p><p>Pierce’s laughter cuts off.</p><p> </p><p>The room settles into silence.</p><p> </p><p>A couple feathers float down from the ceiling as they all collectively hold their breath; the parlor is completely still. No one speaks as the fog slowly clears and reveals only seven equally frightened faces, even though Jeff is doing his best to not to show it, making him look kind of constipated rather than relaxed.</p><p> </p><p>Craig is curled up on the ground, their papers scattered around them, rocking and whimpering. Annie rushes up to them, placing a careful hand on their back. “Hey,” she whispers, “We’re gonna figure this out. It’s okay.” She begins to gather the papers, and Jeff walks up to her to help.</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” she says to Jeff, surprised.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff pauses from where he’s begun to kneel and gather the legal documents. “It’s Pierce’s will,” he replies, shrugging.</p><p> </p><p>She scowls and hits his shoulder, then returns to comforting Craig.</p><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, Abed scours the room, looking over each person and item. There’s a vase cracked on the ground, and something black—ashes, maybe—have spilled out of it. The feathers seem to be from a pillow that hit the roof too hard. He counts heads silently, then frowns, turning to the spot where Chang was, and then does another once-over.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Chang’s not in the room. </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Abed gives Troy’s hand a squeeze. Troy glares at him and rips his hand out of Abed’s.</p><p> </p><p>Abed pauses at that, cocking his head, then nods, pulling the arm around Troy’s shoulders back into his lap. Immediately, Troy feels guilty, and then angry at Abed for making him feel guilty, so he crosses his arms. Abed turns away from Troy to look at the group, all in various states of shock and stress, and says,  “Pierce took Chang,” matter of fact. “That’s probably who screamed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Chang’s missing?” cries Britta, suddenly glancing around.</p><p> </p><p>“Abed, that’s impossible,” responds Jeff in an unimpressed way. “Pierce is <em> dead, </em> remember?”</p><p> </p><p>Abed shrugs and gets off the couch, walking over to where Chang was.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, ghosts?” retorts Troy in his best <em> duh, Jeff, </em> voice, and looks in the direction Abed’s heading. </p><p> </p><p>His gaze settles on the portrait of Pierce, chewing on his lip. A much younger Pierce Hawthorne stares back at him.</p><p> </p><p>Troy realizes with a start that the portrait is smiling.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. haunted house hang-up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>“Alright, gang, I think we need to split up and investigate,” says Troy as he watches Abed bend over the spot where Chang was, collecting dust on his fingertip and inspecting it curiously.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Annie asks from her place next to Craig. Then she pauses, turning to look at everyone else. Troy can see the smile forming on her face as she processes his words. “Oh my God, you guys, are we going to investigate a mystery??” She beams and stands, clapping her hands together and bouncing in place excitedly. </p><p> </p><p>Jeff groans. Abed shoots a finger gun at her.</p><p> </p><p>Her expression changes as she becomes serious. “I do think Jeff was right about maybe a pre-recorded message,” she muses, walking away from Craig to start poking at the furniture, “can anyone find speakers?”</p><p> </p><p>“Or a fan?” interjects Britta.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley gets up from the couch, nodding as she moves towards Annie to help.</p><p> </p><p>“Whoa, okay, everybody stop,” says Jeff, holding his hands up. As if by habit (it probably was habit, at some point), everyone freezes in place and turns to look at him. “We need to consider what we’re doing. Are we <em> really </em> going to investigate a <em> bad </em> ghost story about Pierce, who was barely our friend and spent most of the time we knew him torturing us? There’s a reason we stopped doing this, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“You got tired and lazy?” supplies Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” scowls Jeff. “We weren’t good for each other.” He massages his temples and sighs. “I was never nice to you guys because I’m allergic to commitment. No one ever took Britta seriously, and when we did, she’d give advice so bad it usually made any situation <em> worse. </em> We barely included Shirley, who used guilt like a weapon when she found out about it—” At this, Shirley gasps offendedly “—and Annie was constantly on her high horse and too high-strung to relax. Troy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And you, Abed, had a tendency to drag us into unsafe situations in the first place, like now.” He sighs again, and studies everyone’s faces with an expression of defeat and bitterness. “Look. We can all agree Troy and Abed had the healthiest relationship out of all of us.”</p><p><br/>
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There are murmurs of agreement. Troy pointedly doesn’t look in Abed’s direction.</p><p> </p><p>“And if even they can’t stay friends, how is it possible the rest of us will ever manage to be on good terms?”</p><p><br/>
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A long silence settles in the room where no one can answer that question.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff nods and continues: “I, for one, argue that we should all just sit here, calm down, and let Craig read out the will. Pierce can’t hurt us. A few mirror tricks aren’t going to change that.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s another pause that Troy knows should be filled with, <em> Don’t you mean… </em> Chang <em> that? </em></p><p> </p><p>He stares down at his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“Jeff,” snaps Britta, shaking the room of its morose mood, “He took Chang. And it may not be a ghost—even though I think that unresolved business can manifest itself in a lot of different ways—but stop being a lazy asshole and help us find Chang.”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t even like Chang!!” cries Jeff.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s about being kind, Jeff,” replies Shirley, tone saccharine laced with disappointment. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Britta, “No one would wish being stuck with Pierce’s ghost on their worst enemy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say that!!” whimpers Troy. “He might be able to hear us!”</p><p> </p><p>“Troy, ghosts aren’t real,” snaps Jeff. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t know that,” replies Abed, snapping his fingers. “We’ve seen plenty of unexplained stuff. We can’t even remember one Halloween.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Abed.” Jeff stalks over to Craig and roughly hands them their papers. “Craig. Read the damn will. Chang showed up. He couldn’t stay. Oh well.”</p><p><br/>
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Craig blinks, looking down at the partially crumpled papers in their hands. “I guess I can read the will,” they say, slowly as they straighten out a page, silent for a moment as they skim. They look nervously up at the will, placing a tentative hand on Jeff’s bicep as they do so. “It says that if Chang doesn’t get his portion, none of you get anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bullshit,” snaps Jeff, ripping the page out of their hands. He pauses to flex his bicep, which causes Craig to let out a strangled sound, then looks down at the sheet of paper. “Pierce never cared that much about Chang.”</p><p><br/>
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“You don’t know that,” points out Troy, echoing Abed from before. “Sometimes they were  best friends.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes is the key word here,” snarls Jeff as he reads furiously. “This is bullshit.”</p><p><br/>
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“Just help us find Chang,” replies Britta, “and you’ll get your share. Isn’t that what you want?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine!” He shoves the papers back into Craig’s hands and stands up. He rubs at his temples and looks around at the group, shifting slightly back into the Jeff that led Mystery, Inc. He walks over to where Abed is standing and stares up at the portrait. “What have we got? We were all in the room when Chang disappeared. Did anyone see anything?”</p><p> </p><p>“The troll blinked at me in the hallway,” supplies Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“The portrait is smiling,” adds Britta.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff stares at Troy, then sighs. “Alright, gang, sounds like we need to split up and investigate,” he grits out in a monotone. Annie claps, and Abed gives him a nod, mouthing, <em> nice nice nice. </em>Jeff rolls his eyes. “Okay. Annie and Abed, go with Troy to...investigate a troll.” He frowns to himself, muttering, “This feels so stupid,” before he straightens again and looks over to Britta. “Britta, Shirley, help me uncover clues in this room.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait—” Troy starts, just as Shirley sighs out, “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shirley, you’re the only person here who can keep me from murdering Britta,” Jeff says. “Troy, Abed and Annie are the only people who ever believe you. I wonder why,” he adds sarcastically.</p><p> </p><p>Troy frowns.</p><p> </p><p>“Shirley, you’re also the only one who listens to Britta when she says something clever,” Abed adds. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s nice,” coos Shirley. “We should take a look at the mantle, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed gives her a thumbs up.</p><p> </p><p>“Come back here if you find something. Or if it gets late. I don’t care,” says Jeff.</p><p> </p><p>“Wow, really inspirational,” Annie replies, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Troy. Show us where the troll figurine was?”</p><p> </p><p>Troy nods and begins to walk out of the room, not waiting for Annie and Abed to follow. Annie squeaks and jogs to catch up, grabbing his arm and leaning against him. “I’m sorry about Jeff,” she whispers. And then, louder and more cheery, as she glances behind them to Abed, “You guys!! I’ve really missed this.”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says when they turn into the hallway and out of earshot. There’s less light here; there are no windows and half the lamps are dim or flickering. “Jeff’s just being Evil Jeff.” He doesn’t agree with her about missing this, mostly because he’s really hyper aware of Abed trailing behind them.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t want to glance behind him, but he feels Abed’s gaze burning the back of his head, and he gives into the urge to look: he catches a glimpse of Abed’s expression before he makes eye contact with Troy and it shutters back into a neutral one. Abed had looked at him with a tender kind of surprise, and something in Troy’s chest shifts uncomfortably.</p><p> </p><p>Troy looks away.</p><p> </p><p>“I also saw Pierce in a mirror,” he says, continuing to walk, “but I could have hallucinated it.”</p><p><br/>
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“Is it disrespectful to ask if Pierce is really dead?” asks Abed behind him. “The funeral hasn’t happened yet, so we’ve had basically no confirmation that he died.”</p><p> </p><p>Annie makes an “eh” noise after considering. “I don’t know how else that could have happened.” She pauses, inspecting the narrow hallway and presumably looking for side rooms close by. “But wouldn’t you have noticed if Pierce was there and suddenly wasn’t? He wasn’t exactly the fastest runner.”</p><p> </p><p>She tries a nearby door. It’s locked. Her hand comes away dusty.</p><p> </p><p>Troy shrugs. “You and Abed were always the ones that figured out the tricks,” he says, aiming for aloof and landing on bitter. “You don’t need me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You, uh, always noticed what was wrong first,” points out Annie, looking at Abed meaningfully, like she’s trying to get him to say something. “We would never have found anyone without you.”</p><p><br/>
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Troy rolls his eyes. “You’d have noticed eventually,” he says, and stops at the bookshelf. “Here’s the troll.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s as ugly and weird as he remembers; he glares at it as Annie approaches carefully. He thinks about breaking eye contact with it to look over at Abed—or rather, he feels a sudden urge to look over to Abed, but he doesn’t want to give the troll a chance to try anything. Or Pierce’s ghost, now that he thinks about it.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” says Annie, picking up the troll and rolling it around in her hands. It’s in a little green shirt with three buildings on it, two smaller and one larger one in the center. “It seems pretty normal.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s weird,” says Abed. “It doesn’t seem in keeping with the ghost theme. Narratively, this whole ghost thing seems all over the place. I mean, an animated troll? Rising from the dead? It’s a little sloppy.”</p><p><br/>
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Troy whirls around and finds Abed looking at his reflection in the mirror down the hall. “I didn’t make it up!” he cries. “I really saw its eyes moved. It <em> blinked, </em> Abed.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed meets his gaze through the mirror. “It would be in character for Pierce to be a sloppy storyteller,” he says, “if there was some kind of purpose. Pierce was always more interested in torturing us than actually doing a good job of pulling together a theme. So long as no one picked at the narrative too hard—” here he drags a finger through the dust, perpendicular to Troy’s line, forming an X “—it usually succeeded.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t get it,” says Annie. “Why would Pierce animate a troll?”</p><p> </p><p>“How do we know this is Pierce?” says Troy. “He’s <em> dead, </em> isn’t he?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ghosts can move objects sometimes,” points out Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” says Troy, just to contradict him. He folds his hands. “I thought ghosts weren’t real.”</p><p><br/>
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“Jeff said that,” Abed replies, turning to point a finger at Troy. “Not you. You said that ghosts were real, this place was haunted, and I had to hold your hand when you got scared when Pierce’s ghost visited us in the parlor.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t have to hold my hand!!” cries Troy. “I didn’t even want to sit next to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” says Abed, quiet. </p><p> </p><p>“Troy,” says Annie. “That’s not nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well Abed said he didn’t want to be my friend,” replies Troy, crossing his arms. “And so I don’t want to be friends with a <em> nerd </em> either.” He says ‘nerd’ as pointedly in Abed’s direction as he can, but Abed doesn’t flinch. He just looks at Troy and cocks his head, as if confused, then turns to Annie.</p><p> </p><p>“We haven’t got time for this, you guys,” sighs Annie. “I wish you had just talked it out months ago. But Chang is missing!” She places the troll back on the shelf and puts her hands on her hips. “Can we just be friends until we figure this out? And then afterwards you guys can talk it out.”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t want to talk it out,” says Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say ‘we,’” snaps Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“You guys,” whines Annie.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” says Abed. “But let it be known that it’s not a good idea. Emotional strife in film and TV in a stressful situation always leads to bungling the plan.” He holds out his hand to Troy, presumably to shake it.</p><p> </p><p>Troy hates that Abed wants to shake hands, not do their handshake. Since when do they shake hands?! He glares at Abed and doesn’t uncross his arms. He just nods. “Okay,” he says. “Truce.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed takes his hand back, frowns down at it, and mirrors Troy’s nod. “Cool,” he says, toneless and sad, “cool cool cool.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright,” says Annie. “Good enough. Troy, can you tell us exactly what happened? Maybe we can see if there’s anything that will lead us to where Chang might be.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Jeff stands in the room as Britta and Shirley poke around it. He sighs; Craig is still sitting on the ground, rocking softly. “What have you guys found?” he asks as he looks over Craig’s figure at the cracked window. They both turn to him with equally annoyed expressions, so he walks over to them.</p><p> </p><p>Britta has dust on her nose; she sneezes. “I swear there’s more dust on this side of the room than over by the portrait.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s impossible,” replies Jeff, while Shirley ducks and looks around the mantle.</p><p> </p><p>“Duh doy, Jeff,” Britta says. “That’s why I said ‘I swear.’”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley groans and rolls her eyes. At that, Craig looks up to give her a matching look of annoyance. “Are you two ever gonna start arguing and help me search?” she asks.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff rolls his eyes. “Well,” he says, stalking over, “like I was asking, what have you guys found?”</p><p><br/>
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“Nothing,” chirps Britta, “except for a lot of dust.” She frowns as she scans the parlor. “Pierce was probably really lonely in his last months. I guess I feel kind of bad I never visited.”</p><p><br/>
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“He was constantly calling you a lesbian,” Jeff says, sighing. “We can be respectful and recognize the guy was an ass.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley does the sign of the cross at that, and turns back to the wall. She peers down at the floor, then gasps. “You know,” she says, walking towards Britta, “I think you might be right about the dust. Look.” She points down, and Jeff strides over to inspect what she’s pointing at. When he looks, though, it just seems like dusty hardwood.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t see it,” says Britta as she moves to the other side of Shirley.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley rolls her eyes. “The dust has formed stripes on the ground,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“Almost like it was blown by air,” says Jeff, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Shirley, we were all there when Pierce <em> magically </em> conjured wind and blew some fog around the room. It was very annoying.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you do think Pierce is a ghost!” cries Britta.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” retorts Jeff, “I think someone is using his memory to get back at us.”</p><p> </p><p>“You two are useless,” replies Shirley, and sighs. “The thing about these tracts—” she begins walking to follow the lines the dust makes “—is that the dust doesn’t form a perfect circle.” As she continues to walk, she ends up in front of the portrait, and next to the cracked window, where air is whistling though. “It starts here.”</p><p><br/>
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She gestures at it: the dust makes less of a circle and more of a spiral, starting at the window.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” says Britta, walking over to the window. “That’s genius!”</p><p><br/>
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Shirley humphs at that. </p><p> </p><p>“So you mean to say,” Jeff says, inspecting the window, “whoever summoned the fog did it outside the parlor? Shirley, you’re a genius!”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t get too excited,” replies Shirley, but she’s pleased. “We’ve got to go check it out.”</p><p> </p><p>“You stay here, Craig,” calls Jeff. “We’ll be back in a moment.”</p><p> </p><p>They rush out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Troy finishes telling them about the conversation with Britta, Annie’s worrying her lower lip and Abed’s picked up the troll, frowning. “Did Pierce ever talk about this troll when you lived with him?” Annie asks, watching Abed turn the troll over and over in his hands. “Or about the mirrors?”</p><p> </p><p>“He knew I hated that thing,” offers Troy. “But he said it protected the house. Like a geranium.”</p><p><br/>
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“You mean a gargoyle,” corrects Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess,” Troy says, frowning. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” says Annie, peering close at the troll. “Maybe that’s why Pierce decided to inhabit the troll. He knew it’d freak you out.”</p><p><br/>
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“More evidence to Pierce is torturing us theory.” Abed snaps his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“He basically said that in the parlor,” points out Annie. “It’s not really a theory.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed shrugs at that. “Should we put it back?” He looks to Troy, holding out the troll flat in his palm. Troy takes an instinctive step back. “It’s also possible it’s a magical troll.” He cocks his head, considering. “Maybe it sees us as intruders, so it’s pretending to be Pierce in order to scare us away.”</p><p> </p><p>“Abed, that’s impossible,” Annie says, but she looks unconvinced.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve seen a lot of weird things,” Abed replies, and Troy watches as she swallows and goes back to worrying her lower lip.</p><p> </p><p>“He has another one outside his room,” Troy says, after a moment. “Another troll, I mean. The old man had mirrors <em> everywhere. </em> It was kind of weird.”</p><p><br/>
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“I know,” says Annie, glancing at the mirror in the hall. “I’ve seen a lot of them around.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pierce was kind of like Jeff,” Abed says. “They both cared a lot about how they were perceived.”</p><p> </p><p>“Everyone cares about that,” Troy responds bitterly, feeling for some reason like Abed’s insulted him personally. “Even you.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed’s mouth clicks shut, he gives a brisk nod. Annie looks between the two of them, concerned, and then she sighs again. “We could go see if that troll’s weird, too?” she offers nervously, standing between the two of them. “I don’t want to come back to the group without having figured out anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hope the others have figured something out,” Troy says.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” says Abed. “If this were a movie, we’d cut here to them looking just as disappointed as we feel now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fortunately,” Annie replies brightly, “this isn’t a movie, and so maybe they have found something.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hope so,” says Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” agrees Troy, and walks past Abed to guide them to the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>The house seems to get more cramped as they continue to walk; he could swear the hallways get more narrow, the lighting worse and more dim. He squints to try and make out the wallpaper’s design, but it’s faded. He’s pretty sure he remembers it being floral, and he thinks he can make out some flowers.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, they come to the stairs, and Troy finally looks over his shoulder to Annie and Abed. Abed’s still looking at him with that empty, sad expression, and it makes him so sad he’s <em> angry, </em> he can’t explain it—so he swallows and nods over to them. “His room is up the stairs,” he says, looking up at the staircase.</p><p> </p><p>It looks rickety, and he’s pretty sure he sees spiderwebs in the corners. There’s a light hanging at the top of the stairs, just barely illuminating them.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh,” says Annie. “I can’t believe this place is so gross. Did Pierce really die that long ago?”</p><p> </p><p>Abed frowns. “His date of death was never specified.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great,” says Annie. “More evidence that maybe Pierce is alive, and sowing discord just to get back at us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say that,” wimpers Troy, and tests a step. It creaks under his foot. “He could be listening.”</p><p> </p><p>At that, the light above them flickers, and goes out completely, bathing them in darkness. Annie cries “Jinkies!” into the dark; Troy shrieks and stumbles away from his spot on the stairs, losing his balance. He pinwheels, knocking into Abed, who grunts with an “oof” as he steadies him, holding onto Troy’s arm as he tries to right him.</p><p> </p><p>They stay frozen like that for a moment, Abed’s grip bruising on Troy’s right arm.</p><p> </p><p>(Abed smells like butter, he notes. He hadn’t noticed that before.</p><p> </p><p>Troy needs to stop cataloguing what Abed smells like.)</p><p> </p><p>The light flickers back on, and when Troy can see, Annie’s trying the same step with a frightened look on her face. “Sorry, Pierce,” she whispers.</p><p> </p><p>Abed looks at Troy, frowning. Troy yanks his arm away. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s just a faulty light,” says Annie, looking up at the staircase. She frowns, taking another step forward; this one is silent except for the click of her shoes against the wood, which echoes in the quiet and cramped space. She glances nervously over her shoulder to Abed, who’s still focused on Troy. “Right?”</p><p> </p><p>Abed shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” says Troy, equally uneasily. </p><p> </p><p>She takes another step. Troy inches forward, then—against his better judgement—looks back at Abed. He hates himself for needing the support.</p><p> </p><p>Abed just nods. “I’ll catch you,” he says, answering Troy’s unspoken question, the question Troy had been too afraid to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” whispers Troy. “Okay.” He steps onto the creaky first step, and then begins to follow Annie. From the sound of Abed’s steps, Abed must be following behind, and so they begin to climb in silence. Occasionally, the light flickers, but it doesn’t go out again, which Troy is insanely grateful for.</p><p> </p><p>“How many flights, Troy?” asks Annie, after a while. She’s huffing slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“All of them. He liked the view from the top,” says Troy. “I think he converted the attic into a master master bedroom, and turned the basement into an attic replacement.”</p><p> </p><p>“Master master bedroom?” Annie shakes her head. “Pierce was so…Pierce.”</p><p> </p><p>They continue to walk up the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>After a while, Annie says, “How do you think he did it? If Pierce wasn’t a...ghost.” She whispers the last word.</p><p> </p><p>“Did what?” Troy asks.</p><p> </p><p>She pauses on the stair, then shrugs and continues to walk up. One creaks underneath her foot, and Troy flinches. “The disappearing with Chang and the air and stuff. I mean, we’ve seen fog used a lot to hide something, but I still can’t figure out how we heard Pierce <em> or </em> how Chang disappeared.”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs for a moment, and then continues, “I mean, we probably would have noticed a hole in the floor, right? And that window seems suspicious, but I can’t figure it out. I feel like…”</p><p> </p><p>She stops again. “Wait. What if—” She frowns. “Britta mentioned the portrait was different, right? What if…”</p><p><br/>
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At that, the light goes out again, with no warning. Troy bites down on a strangled scream and feels Abed’s hands settle on his waist, firm and warm and steady. He takes a deep breath and tries to match his breathing to Abed’s, but he can’t really hear Abed in the dark. “You guys…?” he asks, tentative.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” squeaks Annie. She sounds nearby, but he can’t see anything at all. “I’m here. I just had a really good idea.”</p><p><br/>
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“I’m here,” echoes Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“So am I,” says a distant, crackly third voice, up ahead.</p><p> </p><p>They all scream, and Troy turns to run down, smacking into Abed, who mistakes the movement for Troy needing to be held, and maybe Troy really appreciates the hug, okay, because he’s terrified, but also, he just barely manages to choke out a “Run!!” to Abed and Annie, trying to swat Abed’s hands away.</p><p> </p><p>“Running,” agrees Abed, and he takes one of Troy’s hands, presumably because he remembers that Troy hates the dark, and Troy wants to scream again, but less out of fear and more out of something—</p><p> </p><p>He feels Abed yank him down, and he holds out his hand, trying to grab for Annie, when—</p><p> </p><p>The voice begins to cackle, though it’s full of static and distorted, and Troy recognizes with a jolt it’s Pierce who’s cackling, and he feels his throat clog up, saying, “Annie. Annie?!” but getting no response, still flailing his hand out uselessly in hopes of grabbing at Annie and tugging her towards them—</p><p> </p><p><em> “Annie!” </em> he shouts, just as there’s a <em> CRACK. </em></p><p> </p><p>Someone lets out a high pitched scream.</p><p> </p><p>There’s another creaking in the steps, and Troy grabs at Abed again, terrified, as Abed tugs Troy further away from the creaking <em> and </em> the scream, and then there’s silence again, and Troy begins to whine. “Abed,” he says nervously, and because he can’t bring himself to say anything else, “Abed…”</p><p> </p><p>“I have a flashlight, but I’m going to have to let go of your hand,” replies Abed, and fumbles with his belt. “I should have used it sooner.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why didn’t you??” cries Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“I liked the thematic parallel to what happened in the parlor,” Abed says, “and I didn’t want to let go.” He squeezes Troy’s hand, and then slips his own out of Troy’s.</p><p> </p><p>Troy whimpers. He’d like to think he would tell Abed off for not using the flashlight earlier, but the dark is frightening, so all he can bring himself to do is wait for the soft <em> click </em> of the flashlight, holding his breath as he does so. Eventually, Abed’s hand finds Troy’s again, and then he’s holding out the flashlight and emitting a beam of yellow-white light over the steps.</p><p> </p><p>Troy looks around; Annie is nowhere to be seen.</p><p> </p><p>Troy swallows any feelings he has about hugging Abed right now, and pulls Abed into a hug, burying his face into Abed’s shoulder. “We’re so stupid,” he whispers, feeling in his pocket for his candy cigarettes. “How did we lose Annie? Why did we go up the stairs? Why did we think investigating trolls were a good idea?!” he cries, the last part a sob.</p><p> </p><p>Abed rubs comforting circles on his back. “We know we’re getting close if they took Annie,” he replies.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” snaps Troy, pulling out the packet and taking out a candy cigarette. He taps it against the case and then places it in his mouth. “Annie disappearing isn’t a good thing, Abed.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” agrees Abed. “We blew it. But… Why take Annie? Why take Chang?”</p><p> </p><p>He squeezes past Troy to go first; Troy lets him pass if only because Abed has the flashlight. Abed goes up a couple stairs, then shines his flashlight at something, waiting for Troy to catch up. Troy sighs, places his candy cigarettes back into his pocket, and walks up the stairs to meet Abed. </p><p> </p><p>He’s met with Abed’s light shining into a hole where a step should be.</p><p> </p><p>“Annie fell?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ghosts can’t teleport people,” notes Abed, nodding. “Nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Annie had to fall. That means Chang must have not been teleported.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe ghosts can only be corporate for so long,” says Troy. “You don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Corporeal,” corrects Abed, and shrugs. “It doesn’t make sense that Pierce would spend so much energy on Chang and not on Annie.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why did we let him take Annie??” Troy groans, suddenly overcome with emotion. “We’re the worst, Abed. Annie’s our friend!” He presses a finger into Abed’s chest. “Annie’s your <em> best friend, </em> and you let Pierce take her!” He shakes his head, and though he’s aiming for accusatory, bitterness manages to sneak into his tone.</p><p> </p><p>Abed cocks his head; his features are severe from the flashlight’s beam as it creates shadows over his nose and cheeks. “Annie’s not my best friend.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Troy glares at him.</p><p> </p><p>Abed stares at him for a long time; the dust in the house floats in as specks in the light from his flashlight. He does that thing where he seems like he’s trying to put something together, like he’s undressing Troy and redressing him with evidence he’s gathered. Eventually, he says, “Are you mad that Annie’s my roommate?”</p><p> </p><p>“No!” lies Troy, crossing his arms and trying not to make eye contact.</p><p> </p><p>“Friends don’t lie,” Abed reminds him gently.</p><p> </p><p>“You basically decided we weren’t friends,” Troy snaps, and then looks down at the space where Annie’s stair had been.</p><p> </p><p>Abed cocks his head again. “No, I didn’t,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” Troy replies, and frowns. “We have to go down there.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed shines the light into the hole. It’s not a huge drop; Troy could probably jump and be fine. He looks over to Abed, and Abed nods. “We need to find Annie,” Abed agrees, and hands him the flashlight. Troy takes it, aiming it into the space where Abed is about to jump, and waits.</p><p><br/>
Abed swings his legs over the step and slides down.</p><p> </p><p>He hits the ground with a soft <em> oof, </em> and looks up at Troy, beckoning. </p><p> </p><p>Troy sighs, closes his eyes, and jumps down. He’s surprised when he’s met by Abed’s strong and steady hands; Abed makes an <em> oof </em> noise but holds him regardless in a bridal carry. Troy opens his eyes, and Abed’s a couple inches from his face, looking at him with an unreadable expression.</p><p> </p><p>Abed looks away.</p><p> </p><p>The space is cramped; there’s not a lot of room for the two of them side-by-side. It’s dusty, and cobwebby, Troy wrinkles his nose to fight back a sneeze, but ultimately fails.</p><p> </p><p>The sound echoes throughout the cramped room.</p><p> </p><p>He sits for a moment in Abed’s arms, not because he likes it, okay, but because he needs a second, and Abed’s very strong, and his breath is steady and relaxing, and Troy likes tracking the motion of his chest rising and falling, that’s all. Once his breath steadies, he sneezes again, and feels briefly embarrassed about the sound of it, but Abed doesn’t laugh, or react at all, really, so then he’s mostly okay.</p><p> </p><p>“Abed?” he asks, quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Can you let me down?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Abed gently lowers him to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Troy frowns over at him for a moment. “I don’t get why you caught me.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed looks around the space, then looks at Troy, confusion written plainly on his features. “There wasn’t enough room, and I know you don’t like heights,” he says, matter of fact. Troy hates himself for the way his heart squeezes at that, and he blames how close he is to Abed, since the space is so cramped. Abed’s expression changes again, and he also frowns, and looks back to the room. “I think I see an exit up ahead,” says Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“But you keep doing it,” continues Troy. “Catching me. And holding my hand.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“You were scared,” says Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“I know!” cries Troy, “But it’s embarrassing.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Holding your hand, or being scared?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Both! Neither! I don’t know! The way you keep trying to take care of me when you don’t even want to be my friend!” Troy feels confused tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and moves to put his face in his hands, but the space is too tight for that, so his arms just bump against Abed’s ineffectively, and he lowers them again.</p><p> </p><p>“I do want to be your friend,” Abed replies, cocking his head. </p><p> </p><p>“Friends don’t lie,” Troy responds bitterly. “Where’d you say the door was?”</p><p> </p><p>Abed opens his mouth to respond, then pauses and maneuvers his hands to hold onto Troy’s shoulders by running them along the length of Troy’s arms. “I think we’re having a miscommunication plotline,” he says, quiet, then stops. “Not ‘I think.’ I know we’re having a miscommunication plotline.” His head tilts again, and for a moment his gaze slides away as his expression shutters. “That’s partially my fault.”</p><p> </p><p>“Abed…”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t want you to move in,” says Abed, “because I was worried it would ruin our friendship.”</p><p> </p><p>“It ruined our friendship anyway,” snaps Troy, but it’s less of a snap and more something wet and through tears. He’s crying again, and he’s not sure if he’s crying because Abed is so close and he’s so confused, or because he’s sad, or because he <em> hated </em> spending almost seven months not talking to his best friend.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” says Abed. “But this is better than the alternative.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Abed looks, for a moment, incredibly sad, and says, “They don’t make movies about people like us, Troy. Or TV shows. Or comic books.” </p><p> </p><p>Troy frowns. “My little cousin watches Sesame Street, and there’s these characters, Bert and Ernie—”</p><p> </p><p>“Troy.”</p><p> </p><p>Troy stops and looks at Abed. “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“I want to be your friend. I don’t want to ruin anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what you mean,” cries Troy. “This is so confusing!”</p><p> </p><p>Abed swallows, and his face becomes practicedly neutral again. “You’re gonna have to trust that you have to trust me,” he says, echoing what Troy once told him. He looks beyond Troy. “I think there’s a door behind you. You just have the turn the knob, and we can get out of here and find Annie.”</p><p> </p><p>Troy sighs. “Okay,” he says. “I can trust you.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
He fumbles for the knob. The door swings towards them, so they have to press up against each other to try and get out, which Abed comments as <em> terrible design, </em> but Troy’s too busy thinking about the feeling of Abed against him, solid and warm and <em> there, </em> and allows himself, for one small moment, to remember how much he’s missed him, before he fumbles with the flashlight and squeezes around the door to enter the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>Abed lets out an exhale the moment they’re not so close, but he takes Troy’s hand. “Are you okay with leading?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Troy says unconvincingly. “Yeah, I am.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool,” says Abed. He squeezes Troy’s hand three times, and then adds, “Cool cool cool.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
They begin to march down the narrow hall. It’s a tight fit, and Troy’s shoulders brush up against the walls. He figures they’ll be incredibly dusty and gross when they get out; he knows Abed’s ducking his head since the ceiling is so low. He’s pretty sure there are more spiders up there, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>The light shines ahead of them. He can’t see the end of the hall, but he puts on a brave face and represses his fears. They need to find Annie.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Leaves crunch under their feet as Britta for what feels like the millionth time presses her nose to the window. “We’ve found nothing,” she grumbles, sighing.</p><p> </p><p>“Whoever had a fog machine,” says Jeff, “Was really fast.”</p><p> </p><p>“Or had wheels,” says Shirley, looking down at the grass. “If this were mud, we’d be able to tell.”</p><p> </p><p>They’ve been circling the house for about an hour. Dusk is approaching, and their shadows are starting to disappear as the sky becomes dark blue. Over the treeline, Jeff can make out the start of a sunset. If they don’t hurry up, he’ll have to go grab his flashlight from the back of his car, and the thought of being here until late makes him want to rip out his perfect hair.</p><p> </p><p>“It was such a good idea, Shirley,” says Britta, glancing over to Shirley. “If only we were faster. Or didn’t waste time trying not to investigate.” She shoots Jeff a dark look of disappointment.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley nods, and gives Jeff a similar look.</p><p><br/>
He shrugs. “We weren’t successful our last couple of times,” he says, shrugging. “How do we know we’re any good at this, anyway?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“We solved a lot more mysteries than we were stumped by,” replies Britta. “You’re just too negative.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I’m negative?” he cries. “Britta, you constantly object to everything.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s got a point, Brit-ta,” adds Shirley.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Being aware of problems in the world isn’t negative,” snaps Britta. “And Shirley, I thought you were better than this! Who’s side are you on?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not on anyone’s side,” replies Shirley darkly. “You’re not my parents.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff scoffs at that, kicking at a stone with his shoe. He’s going to have to repolish them when he gets home. “Look, it’s getting dark. We should probably go find the others and call it quits. I’m starting to think Pierce’s fortune is just not worth all of his,” he says, gesturing generally at the house.</p><p> </p><p>“Speak for yourself,” says Shirley. “I need that money for my boys.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Britta. “Shirley’s a single mother. Be more considerate, Jeff.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“No,” he replies. “That’s not my job. I’m not a considerate person. I’m going to be a lawyer again, and then I’ll represent people who rip hard-earned money out of other people’s hands, all the while stuffing my own pockets with my client’s money.” He looks down at her, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I don’t have time to be considerate.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“You used to,” says Britta darkly.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff ignores her. “If you all are going to <em> force </em> me to stay, I have some extra flashlights in my car.”</p><p> </p><p>“No one’s forcing you,” mutters Shirley, and Jeff pretends he doesn’t hear her.</p><p> </p><p>(He’s missed his idiots, okay?!)</p><p> </p><p>Britta takes one last look at the parlor through the window, sneering. “I hate that stupid smiling portrait,” she says, and walks over to Jeff and Shirley. “Also, you still keep flashlights in your car?” She beams, hitting him lightly in the shoulder. “You missed us, you asshole! You missed being a part of Mystery, Incorporated!”</p><p> </p><p>“No I didn’t,” Jeff says quickly. “Shut up.”</p><p> </p><p>She laughs. “Come on, let’s go get those flashlights.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
They walk over to the front of the house, where Jeff’s parked his sleek, black Jaguar F-Type. Britta whistles as she sees it; Shirley raises an eyebrow and mutters, “Showing your wealth so flamboyantly is against God,” judgmentally, which makes Jeff frown at her. She doesn’t back down.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Shirley,” he eventually says dryly.</p><p> </p><p>“I only say these things because I care about your soul,” she coos.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, shut up about our souls, Shirley,” snaps Britta, and Jeff shoots her a grateful glance.</p><p> </p><p>“I just would hate for you to go to Hell!” replies Shirley sweetly.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that’s definitely why you say these things,” Jeff deadpans. “Not because you love control.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“And you don’t?”</p><p> </p><p>His frown deepens. “I do,” he hisses, “but even still.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re two sides of the same coin, Jeff-ery,” Shirley says, smiling.</p><p> </p><p>He glares at her and opens his car door. “Whatever,” he calls. “At least I don’t guilt people into coming over for dinner.” He can’t see her expression because he’s too busy fumbling in his back seat, looking for the flashlights and batteries he keeps back there, but he knows it’s displeased and possibly even angry.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you aren’t saying you dislike my cooking,” Shirley says behind him, lowly.</p><p> </p><p>“Your cooking is really good,” Britta says. “The problem is your identity circles around cooking.”</p><p> </p><p>“Britta,” snaps Jeff as he pats down the space underneath the front seat, “stop psychoanalyzing Shirley.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“You agree with me,” accuses Britta. </p><p> </p><p>“We can’t all be anti-establishment jezebels,” sniffs Shirley. “I don’t have a choice.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Yes you do,” insists Britta. “You used to be a badass who solved mysteries. Now you’re a single mother who bakes.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I was always a single mother who bakes,” says Shirley. “I just also solved mysteries.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes, we all miss solving mysteries,” Jeff says, groaning and reaching for the flashlight that’s rolled out of his reach.</p><p> </p><p>“Jeff,” Britta says smugly, “are you admitting to missing this?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Shirley coos. “I think he is!” she says happily, and Jeff doesn’t have to look to know they’re wearing matching shit-eating grins. They’re probably even giggling silently with each other. He sighs and pulls out the flashlight, beginning to shimmy out of the uncomfortable position he’s put himself in.</p><p> </p><p>He grabs the other one he keeps in the glovebox and holds them both up. “I only have two.”</p><p> </p><p>Shirley and Britta exchange glances. Britta sighs. “It’s okay. You take it, Shirley.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Brit-ta,” sings Shirley, taking the flashlight and clicking it on. Jeff nods and clicks his own on, so that they have twin beams of yellow light.</p><p> </p><p>They don’t really need it yet, but the sight is comforting all the same.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of contented silence between them, and then Jeff hears a <em> SNAP </em> and whirls towards the sound. He groans. He can’t get a moment of peace, can he?</p><p> </p><p>When he peers closer, he sees only rows and rows of trees, shadowed and dark. He can barely make out a couple feet into the brush. “Who’s there?” he asks, pointing his flashlight towards where he’s pretty sure he heard the sound; the beam of the flashlight just creates a half-circle on the trunk of the nearby tree and disappears into the darkness. “Who’s there?” he repeats.</p><p> </p><p>He’s met with the sound of crunching footsteps, and low whispering voices. “You guys?” Britta says, moving up towards Jeff. “What if it’s Pierce?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not Pierce,” snaps Jeff, and moves closer towards the sound. He looks over to Shirley; she nods and takes a step closer with him, and the crunching sound of leaves under someone’s feet gets louder. “Who’s there!” he shouts, aiming his flashlight aggressively at the sound.</p><p> </p><p>There’s no response.</p><p> </p><p>There is another <em> SNAP, </em>probably of a twig breaking under foot. Jeff gulps. “Zoinks,” whispers Britta, and Jeff is too afraid to make fun of her.</p><p> </p><p>The sky is rapidly darkening. There’s a flash of light in the forest.</p><p> </p><p>And then— </p><p> </p><p>“Who’s there?” another voice echoes him, sounding just as scared as Jeff feels.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff blinks.</p><p> </p><p>From the trees emerge two <em> very </em> dusty shapes, holding hands: it’s Troy and Abed. Troy sees the three of them and beams, running forward with his hands on his hips. “Hey guys!” He clicks off his flashlight and turns to Abed, then frowns, and appears to count the three of them. “You guys haven’t seen Annie by any chance, have you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Annie?” Britta asks.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” says Jeff slowly. “Don’t tell me you guys lost Annie.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“We didn’t lose Annie,” Troy begins nervously, “so much as, uh, Pierce took her. We tried to follow, but—” he waves his hand at the three of them “—we just found you guys instead.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff swears. Britta closes her eyes; Shirley looks between the two of them nervously, shaking her head and wringing her hands. “Poor Annie,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>A wave of anger surges over him. God, Jeff hated that old man. He can’t believe he’s doing this to them from beyond the grave. “That’s it,” says Jeff, clapping his hands together. “Fuck Pierce and his fortune. This is too far. We have to find Annie.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed and Troy both nod. “We should have kept her closer,” says Troy, voice trembling.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Britta replies softly. “We’ll find her. We always do.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed nods and points at Britta as if to second her point. Jeff looks between Troy and Abed curiously, wondering if he should ask why they’re still holding hands. He decides not to. “We need a plan,” he says. “How did Annie disappear? Maybe we can figure out some hole in the illusion. Because this has to be an illusion, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Britta shrugs. Abed makes a seesaw motion with his hand, indicating he’s not sure.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff rolls his eyes. “Troy and Abed, tell us what happened. Shirley, you’re good with traps; maybe you can use the information we’ve figured out to help us.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“What about me?” asks Britta.</p><p> </p><p>He frowns. “Britta, don’t move out of anyone’s sight?” he offers, and she groans.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” says Troy. “So we went to go check out the troll, right? Except—”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, there’s the loud shattering glass and an ear splitting scream, effectively cutting Troy off.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff curses. Troy swallows. They all exchange glances, and without saying anything, they all run towards the sound, beams of light from their flashlights trained ahead.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u again to logan &amp; also to lo for helping &lt;3 if u liked this please comment or yell at me @ figbian on tumblr or twit :-)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. don't fool with a phantom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They all gasp when they enter the parlor.</p><p> </p><p>The room is empty: wind whistles through a broken window. It’s got a huge hole in it now, and glass is scattered over the floorboards and carpet. Troy sucks in his breath as he sees the smashed windowpane; it looks like someone threw a stone or brick.</p><p> </p><p>The sun has set, so the lighting is dim and casts dramatic shadows as a breeze rustles two or three papers scattered over the ground. Jeff sees the window and then the papers, and moves over to them frowning. “Craig?” he calls, looking around, even though it’s obvious no one’s there. He gathers them in his hands. “Craig?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think that’s who screamed?” asks Britta.</p><p> </p><p>“Probably,” says Abed. “It makes sense for Craig to disappear.”</p><p> </p><p>“Narratively, or logically?” says Jeff, rolling his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Troy frowns over at him. Abed’s hand slides out of his; he sighs and flexes his fingers. “Both,” says Abed, cocking his head. “Though this is less of an Agatha Christie novel and more of a typical mystery for us at this point.” He frowns. “And usually it’s Britta and Troy who are the most danger-prone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Annie said she’d figured something out,” says Troy. He gasps. “Maybe Pierce can read minds!!”<br/><br/></p><p>“Or,” says Jeff, in a way that means he’s making fun of Troy even though Troy can’t figure out how, “He just thought you guys were getting too close to him.”</p><p> </p><p>“We weren’t even following any clues,” points out Abed, coming to Troy’s defense. “We were going to see if Pierce’s troll was still by the bedroom.”</p><p> </p><p>“Trolls,” mutters Troy under his breath. Abed gives him a sympathetic pat.</p><p> </p><p>“Right.” Jeff nods. “Maybe Pierce thought that Annie had figured something out. Seeing as, you know, she said she had figured something out.”</p><p><br/><br/>“How do we know it’s Pierce?” asks Britta.</p><p> </p><p>“Britta, are you just being contrary or do you really want to know the answer to that?” Jeff snaps. “Because last I checked, you thought that ghosts were manifested by unfinished business.” He stalks over to the scattered papers and begins to pick them up, frowning down at them.</p><p> </p><p>Britta sticks her tongue out at him even though he’s not looking.</p><p> </p><p>“How do we know we’ll even figure this out?” says Shirley, looking around the room and clutching her bag. “We couldn’t even keep Craig safe. The boys lost Annie, who’s one of the smartest out of all of us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” says Britta.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a disservice to yourself,” says Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Abed,” coos Shirley, “but I did say one of the smartest.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed gives her a thumbs up. There’s a moment of silence between all of them as Shirley’s words sink in, and their excitement dampens. Usually, this is where Annie would step in and start talking about what they’d figured out, and knowing that makes Troy even more unencouraged. This silence is particularly loud.</p><p><br/><br/>“She’s right, though,” says Troy eventually, mostly directed at Jeff. He feels himself deflate even further. “We did lose Annie.”</p><p> </p><p>“And we lost Craig,” sighs Britta.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff stands and places the papers on a nearby table. “Look,” he says, turning to face them. “I know the last couple of times we tried to solve a mystery it didn’t go well. And I know I, for one, have a bruised ego from the financial fiasco that was the end of Mystery, Incorporated.” He holds his hand up. “But.”</p><p> </p><p>They all look over to him hopefully.</p><p> </p><p>“Winger speech,” whispers Abed to himself, making a fist and pulling it in towards him in victory.</p><p> </p><p>“But I truly believe that we have what it takes,” continues Jeff. “And even if we don’t, we have to try. He has <em> Annie. </em> He has <em> Craig. </em> He has <em> Chang, </em> who I know we all hate, but let’s think about that for a moment. Chang is probably tied up somewhere <em> with </em>Annie. Isn’t that worse than just Annie being missing? The knowledge she’s stuck with Chang?”</p><p><br/><br/>They’re all nodding now, beginning to look more confident.</p><p> </p><p>“Most of all, I’ve missed you guys. There. I’ve said it.” He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, when Troy knows he’s been holding back on it for a long time. “I’ve missed you guys because we’re not just a group of friends who used to solve mysteries together in our van. No! We’re <em> Mystery, Incorporated. </em> And we’re a <em> family</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Troy, and hears echoes of the group saying the same thing. “Yeah!”</p><p> </p><p>“So let’s figure out how to track Pierce down and get our Annie back!”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a chorus of agreements. Jeff looks pleased, muttering, “Still got it!” to himself. “Now,” he says, louder. “Abed and Troy. For real this time, tell us what you figured out when you went to go check out that troll. Shirley, let’s see if you can use that information to build a plan. Britta…don’t get lost.”</p><p> </p><p>Britta rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>Abed looks over to Troy, and launches into a retelling of what had happened. Shirley pulls out a notebook and starts taking notes.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley launches into planning; Abed sits on the couch next to Troy, listening carefully and chiming in occasionally. Troy and Britta mostly sit there. “No way, I’m not doing that,” Jeff is saying, but Troy’s barely listening. He feels exhausted. His limbs are heavy. He stares at Abed’s head; he was right earlier—Abed’s hair is covered in cobwebs and dust. He reaches up gently to start to pick some of the webbing out of it.</p><p> </p><p>Abed freezes under Troy’s touch.</p><p> </p><p>Troy pauses. “Is this okay? You’re all dusty.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed blinks at him for a long moment, then nods. “Yeah,” he says, quiet. “That’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Troy smiles and continues to comb through Abed’s hair, trying to dust him off as best as possible. He wipes the cobwebs on the back of the couch, since he figures Pierce isn’t using it anymore, anyway. Abed leans into Troy’s hands, eyes fluttering closed as Troy pulls out a particularly long string of web.</p><p> </p><p>“Gross,” says Troy, voice full of wonder, and wipes it off his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” says Abed underneath his fingers. Abed’s turned away from him to give him better reach, and Troy can see Abed’s hands in his lap. His fingers are changing shape in a rapid but measured way. He knows Abed can finger spell in ASL; he also knows that sometimes Abed writes out messages to himself. He wonders if Abed’s saying anything now, just a private and personal conversation, one letter at a time.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, Troy,” says Jeff after a while, looking up at them. His face does something complicated. “When you’re done grooming your boyfriend, we have a plan.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed’s fingers splay out and he places them, folded, back into his lap.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be an asshole, Jeff,” snaps Britta. “Men should be allowed to show physical affection with their friends without being called gay.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff groans, and rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>Troy snatches his hands away and rolls his eyes as well, pretending not to be upset. His heart is beating loudly, and he can’t stop thinking the word <em> boyfriend. </em> “Yeah, Britta,” he says, too loud, doing his best to sound annoyed with her and not—and not—</p><p> </p><p>He swallows. “I think that's good enough,” he says to Abed, pulling his hands away.</p><p> </p><p>Abed turns, and cocks his head. “You don’t have to go through with it.” He’s asking about the plan, not about Troy stopping dusting Abed off, but—</p><p> </p><p>Troy looks at him for a long time, then nods. “Yeah,” he says, forcing himself to sound brave. He knows he looks scared anyway. “What’s Pierce gonna do, anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>Abed looks like he has a lot of ideas and knows Troy shouldn’t hear any of them. “After this, we’ll still be friends?” he asks, tentative.</p><p> </p><p>It’s weird, hearing Abed sound so uncertain.</p><p> </p><p>Troy holds out his hand to do their handshake; Abed’s eyes widen as he glances down at Troy’s hand. Then he slowly extends his own hands, and their palms crash twice against their chest in rhythm with their clapping. It’s not an answer, but Abed seems to know what Troy means by it, because he smiles, and looks back to Jeff.</p><p> </p><p>“I think Pierce kept the Mystery Machine in the garage,” says Troy. “There should be some supplies for trap-making in there.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jeff coughs as they dig through the garage. The Mystery Machine is here, and like everything in Pierce’s damn old mansion, it’s covered in dust and cobwebs. “I’m starting to hate it here,” he mutters to himself. “And it’s getting late. I do <em> not </em> want to spend the night in any of the guest rooms.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Yeah,” says Troy. “It’s creepy, I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“We may have to sleep,” says Shirley, staring down at the piles and piles of stuff in the garage.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have to go home to your boys?” asks Troy, turning from where he’s rummaging around to find the key to the Mystery Machine. “If you need to go, Shirley—”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Shirley replies. “I left them at my mother’s house for the weekend.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Alright.”</p><p> </p><p>They fall back into silence for a while. Abed spends most of the time being unhelpful and getting distracted by old memories Pierce left to gather dust. Britta is equally distracted, but only because she keeps coming across strange substances she thinks are drugs and Troy responds are probably tea or poison.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff pulls out a framed photo of a child in what he presumes is the 1930s. They’re young, dark-skinned, with short-cropped hair, in a shirt with three buildings on it. It’s not Gilbert. He frowns at the photo, then places it aside. There’s dozens of other pictures of Pierce in here, too, and one or two that are actually of Gilbert. He sighs down at it and grumbles, “I don’t want to do this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do what? Look through Pierce’s garage?” asks Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” says Jeff. “Be bait for the ghost.”</p><p> </p><p>“What,” says Britta, teasing, “do you need a treat of some kind?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off, I’m not some dog,” replies Jeff, but there’s no bite behind it.</p><p> </p><p>No one says anything to that, and they’re silent again. After about twenty minutes, Troy sneezes and leans back. “Maybe the key’s in the guest house?” he asks hopefully.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a guest house?” says Britta. “Sheesh. I thought the mansion was big enough as it is.”</p><p> </p><p>Troy nods. “It’s closer to the lake,” he says. “And about a five minute walk. Pierce’s mom used to live there.” He frowns to himself, wiping his hands off on his pants. “I wonder why she didn’t live with his dad,” he wonders aloud, more to himself than to anyone else. “Huh. I never thought to ask that before.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed is nodding. He’s finally moved to a box on one of the high shelves. “She died a couple years ago, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Troy nods. “Do you think Pierce’s funeral will have that much beeping?”</p><p> </p><p>Abed cocks his head, considering. “Probably.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff watches the two of them stare at each other for a moment, and Troy breaks into a grin while Abed has a small smile; they seem so normal, so Troy-and-Abed, just for a second, before Abed’s smile shutters and he looks away suddenly. Troy looks confused, and then hurt, and then he stares back down at the box he’s going through.</p><p> </p><p>“Found the key,” says Abed rapidly, and not in a rapid-Abed-way, but in a rapid-nervous-way that makes Jeff squint. He’s holding it up in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Awesome,” says Troy, still struggling not to look upset, and walks over to grab it. Abed drops it into Troy’s hands. He looks weirdly distant, even for Abed. Troy seems to see it, too, and sighs, then turns to look in Jeff’s direction. “Jeff, Britta, Pierce has this weird gym he never let me use, but there’s rope in there. Can you go find it?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” </p><p> </p><p>“Weird gym?” says Britta, grinning. “Does that mean…?” She glances over to Jeff.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Lord,” says Shirley, and does the sign of the cross.</p><p> </p><p>“I know!” says Troy, crossing his arms. “He has a swing in there and he said it was off limits.” He scoffs. “And <em> I </em> was the child.”</p><p> </p><p>The knowledge that the dead old man had a sex dungeon is both unsurprising and incredibly damaging to Jeff’s psyche. Unsurprising because it was <em> Pierce, </em> and damaging because Jeff’s pretty sure he’s going to lose a couple years off his life if he has to dig through it for rope and <em> know </em>what Pierce was actually using it for.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” he says, “but only because we’re best suited to go check it out.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sure you’re not curious, Winger?” asks Britta with a shit-eating grin. She’s enjoying this new knowledge way too much.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” says Jeff. He looks over to Troy. “You guys have the Mystery Machine?”</p><p> </p><p>Troy nods. “We’re going to set up the cages, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed gives him a thumbs up. Those words are not comforting whatsoever, but Jeff trusts Shirley to do her job, so he sighs and gives a half-assed thumbs up back, and motions to Britta. “Third room on the right,” calls Troy as Jeff begins to walk out of the garage. “It’s not locked, the knob just gets stuck.”</p><p> </p><p>“Knob,” snickers Britta.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Britta,” says Jeff, already tired.</p><p> </p><p>As they walk, Britta turns to him and says, “What do you think we’re going to find?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to know,” Jeff replies. “I’d rather not think about it.”</p><p><br/><br/>“I don’t know,” Britta says, “I think you’re curious.”</p><p><br/><br/>“I’m not curious!” He frowns over to her. She hasn’t stopped grinning at him. “Aren’t you against that kind of stuff, anyway? All Pierce did was objectify women. He probably liked to dehumanize them during sex, too.” He retches at that last bit. It’s easily the grossest thing he’s ever said.</p><p> </p><p>Britta shrugs. “Pierce was a misogynist,” she agrees. “I just like watching you squirm.”</p><p> </p><p>“Every day I regret having sex with you,” he tells her.</p><p> </p><p>“So do I,” she sighs, which—<em> ouch. </em></p><p> </p><p>He ignores her, though, when he finds the door. It is stuck, like Troy told him, and he has to yank a little bit. “Not working out enough?” sneers Britta, as he tries to pull  and the door hasn’t opened. “Move aside. Let a <em> real </em> woman take over this,” she says, checking him with her hip to move him out of the way.</p><p><br/>“Whatever,” says Jeff, and moves away.</p><p> </p><p>She opens it with ease, and sticks her tongue out at him for good measure.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” he repeats. “I just loosened it for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” she replies, and peers into the room.</p><p> </p><p>There’s nothing there. </p><p> </p><p>Jeff blinks, and steps inside. There are a couple doors inside, but they look more like closet doors than anything else, and when he goes over to open one up, they’re also completely empty. “Troy wouldn’t send us here just to fuck with us, would he?” he asks, peering into a closet. He thinks there isn’t even a spider in there.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” says Britta. “But there is a hat with a penis on this one.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think that’s City Investigation Corporation’s emblem,” Jeff says, walking over to look at it.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” she says. </p><p> </p><p>“So,” he says, doing another lap of the room. “You and Troy were still close, last I checked.”</p><p><br/><br/>She looks over to him, confused. “Jealous, Winger?”</p><p><br/><br/>“Stop calling me Winger,” he says, “and, no. I couldn’t care less who you sleep with.” He tries looking at the top shelf of one of the closets. There’s not even rope there. The place is so weirdly clean he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I was just wondering if you knew what was happening between Troy and Abed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Britta frowns. “Troy told me about it, but I’m not sure—”</p><p><br/><br/>“If I said I’d help make them friends again, would you tell me?” </p><p> </p><p>She turns slowly on him. “Are you trying to get the gang back together?” she asks, a smile beginning to grow on her face. It’s an off-putting smile, because she knows the answer, the kind of smile she used to throw at him when she knew he was having a moment of weakness and <em> caring </em> when he didn’t want to admit it.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” he mutters. </p><p> </p><p>“Jeff,” she tells him seriously, “you really should allow yourself to be more open and affectionate—”</p><p> </p><p>“Britta.”</p><p><br/><br/>She shuts up.</p><p> </p><p>“What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>Her mouth opens, then closes. “Don’t tell him I told you, buuut…” She pauses, and sighs. “I don’t know the whole thing. I can’t figure out Abed’s motivation. I think it started right after you quit, when we still thought maybe we could do this whole thing without you. You saw how that worked out.”</p><p><br/><br/>“I’m an asshole, I know,” Jeff deadpans. “Get to the point, Britta.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m getting there, I’m getting there! Sheesh.” She rolls her eyes at him. “Something happened. I think Abed got into debt somehow, and Troy got wrapped into having to help make it up, but Abed kept spending? I don’t know. Troy never really clarified. It was a lot of ‘but they might hurt him, Britta!!’ and ‘but he doesn’t like being told what to do, Britta!!’” Her voice pitches higher as she imitates Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay…”</p><p> </p><p>“But they worked it out, maybe?” she shrugs. “I guess the tension was still there. Because after that, after Mystery, Inc. disbanded for good, Troy wanted to move out of Pierce’s, which. Can you blame him?” Jeff nods in agreement. He can’t believe Troy lived with Pierce in the first place. “But Abed didn’t want him to move in with him. But then Annie moved in with Abed?”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs again.</p><p> </p><p>“I just can’t figure it out,” she says. “Abed and Troy both don’t like talking about it.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Huh,” says Jeff. “That clears up pretty much nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” she says. “Everything just went to shit.”</p><p><br/><br/>As if to punctuate that, the door slams closed. They both blink, and then whirl towards the noise. A black cloaked figure is standing in front of the door, arms crossed. Its face is hidden in shadow, but Jeff’s pretty sure it’s smirking at them. “Hello,” it says, and it’s that weird staticky distorted Pierce voice. </p><p> </p><p>“AHHHHHH,” say Britta and Jeff in response. They glance at each other, and without saying anything, each run into a closet.</p><p> </p><p>What happens next is what, if Abed were there, would call a perfect chase scene: there are three closets in the room, one on each wall. Jeff runs into the right closet, Britta into the left. Britta’s head pokes out of the middle closet, sees the Pierce ghost figure, screams, and shuts the door again.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you do that?!” cries Jeff, as he looks out from his own closet and discovers with surprise that Britta is underneath him, also peeking her head out.</p><p> </p><p>“A-ha!” calls the ghost, and runs towards them.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on!” calls Britta, tugging him back in.</p><p> </p><p>They run out of the middle closet door back into the right one; the ghost runs into the left one and exits the middle one, looking confused.</p><p> </p><p>He returns back into the middle one; Jeff leaves the right one and runs into the left one. </p><p> </p><p>Britta leaves the left one and runs into the right one.</p><p> </p><p>The Britta and Jeff both poke their heads out of the middle one, scream, “Zoinks!” and “Uh-oh!” respectively when they see the ghost, and disappear again back into the closet-space. Britta pokes her head out of the left one, and disappears. Jeff pokes his head out of the right one and realizes the ghost is underneath him, screams, and disappears.</p><p> </p><p>The ghost runs into the middle of the room.</p><p> </p><p>Both Jeff and Britta poke their heads out of the middle closet and run out, slamming into the ghost figure. The ghost figure pulls out some rope—<em> that’s </em> where that went, thinks Jeff, and then realizes Annie might be tied up with Pierce sex dungeon rope—and Britta tugs Jeff back into the closet.</p><p> </p><p>“Jeff,” says Britta, as the ghost moves into the left closet and exits the right one. “You have to make a break for it.”</p><p> </p><p>“How are we doing this??” cries Jeff as they exit from the left closet and run into the middle one.</p><p> </p><p>“Jeff,” says Britta more insistently. “Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>She pushes him out the right closet, and disappears.</p><p> </p><p>The ghost pokes his head out of the left closet. “A-ha!” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“Run, Jeff,” cries Britta, reappearing in the middle closet. “Tell them what happened!! Remember me!!”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Britta,” says Jeff, and then feels bad about it. Then he remembers he should be running, so he does, just as the ghost manages to trap Britta into a corner. The ghost whirls to see him move towards the door, and curses. Fog is beginning to spill out from each of the three closets, which, <em> what? </em></p><p> </p><p>“Jeff!” shouts Britta, as he reaches the door.</p><p> </p><p>He yanks it open and doesn’t stop running until he reaches the garage.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Abed keeps looking at Troy like he’s trying to make a decision. Troy feels angry, and confused, because they’re <em> supposed </em> to be best friends again, and best friends don’t lie, and he <em> guesses </em> Abed isn’t lying, but it feels a lot like lying not to tell your best friend something that’s bothering you.</p><p> </p><p>Because something is definitely bothering Abed.</p><p> </p><p>And Troy thinks it might be his fault, based on the way Abed keeps staring at him. </p><p> </p><p>He tries not to think about it. Shirley needs help building traps, and Troy is good at that; he’s always been good with his hands. He likes the way it clears his head, too, so that it’s just him and some tools and quiet while he hammers away in the Mystery Machine. His head is very rarely quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve missed this old thing,” says Shirley, looking around the trunk.</p><p> </p><p>“Tool with, like, a hexagon thing,” orders Troy.</p><p><br/>Abed hands it to him silently. Their fingers brush. Troy’s not sure why he notes this. This is supposed to be his quiet brain time, but his brain keeps getting very loud anytime Abed gets close, which is—</p><p> </p><p>He’s trying not to think about it. He takes the tool.</p><p> </p><p>The truck is pretty much how they’d left it. Troy’s cool toolbox that Annie and Abed made him was still sitting here, partially ajar, and all his tools were in the exact same order as they used to be. It’d been kind of sad, but also comforting, too? He doesn’t know. He’s been feeling a lot of emotions lately, and it’s getting late.</p><p> </p><p>“Jeff and Britta have been gone a while,” remarks Abed.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley looks over to him nervously and clutches her bag. “You don’t think…” she says in a low tone.</p><p> </p><p>“They don’t have any chemistry anymore,” replies Abed rapidly. “If that’s what you’re trying to imply.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then Britta and Troy…?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m right here,” snaps Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“No chemistry,” Abed adds rapidly. He looks nervous. His fingers are making shapes again as he finger spells rapidly. “They haven’t talked in a while.”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually,” says Troy, looking up, “we lived together for a couple months. Britta needed a place to stay, so she crashed on my couch.” At Shirley’s expression, he quickly follows up with, “But we’re not together or anything. We’re better as friends. We’re way too similar to be in a relationship.”</p><p> </p><p>Weirdly enough, it’s Abed who looks relieved. He tries not to dwell on that, either. </p><p> </p><p>He goes back to screwing the thing into the thing. (He’s good with his hands, not terminology, okay?) Shirley goes back to dusting off seats and occasionally instructing him, while Abed sits next to Troy and watches with an attentive gaze, passing Troy each tool as Troy asks for them.</p><p> </p><p>He gets into the rhythm of it quickly, making a trap for Pierce or his ghost or whoever is pretending to be Pierce.</p><p> </p><p>And then—</p><p> </p><p>Jeff appears, panting.</p><p> </p><p>“Ghost,” he manages. “Britta. Gone.”</p><p><br/><br/>“What?” says Shirley.</p><p> </p><p>“Pierce took Britta,” translates Abed, standing up from where he was sitting. Shirley makes a noise of worry, or fright, Troy can’t tell. Troy pauses in the hammering he’s doing to look over to Jeff. He’s flushed and breathing hard, hands on his knees as he stares at them through the open back of the Mystery Machine.</p><p> </p><p>After huffing for a couple moments, Jeff says, “He chased us. It was—”</p><p> </p><p>“Weirdly impossible?” asks Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Jeff. “All these closets…”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool chase scene,” confirms Abed, now looking excited. “We’re in the Mystery Machine. Britta’s disappeared, because she can be danger-prone. We had a chase scene. There’s a ghost in this mansion that we’re trying to catch. Several of our friends have been taken… we’re back.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Shirley turns and looks at Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re back to being Mystery, Inc.”</p><p> </p><p>“Abed…” starts Jeff, but Abed puts his hand up. His eyes are twinkling.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right,” says Troy, unable to stop himself from grinning at Abed. They do their handshake as he adds, “We’re back.” He points to Jeff, feeling suddenly giddy. He’s missed this. He’s not afraid to admit that, at least. “You can pretend we’re not all you want, but you have to admit that for at least this one mystery, we’re being Mystery, Inc.”</p><p> </p><p>“You guys,” Jeff says tiredly, “Annie and Britta are <em> missing</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“And we’re going to get them back,” Abed replies, waving at Troy’s contraption. “Shirley figured it out.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Figured what out?”</p><p> </p><p>“What we needed to do. And Troy figured out how to make a successful trap.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re back?” asks Jeff, but it sounds like he’s asking himself. He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “We’re back.”</p><p><br/><br/>“And when we rescue Annie and Britta, we can clue them in,” adds Shirley, always trying to be considerate of others.</p><p> </p><p>“Awesome,” says Troy. He stands up and does his handshake with Abed. Abed gives him a smile in return.</p><p> </p><p>“Cool,” agrees Abed. “Cool cool cool.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jeff’s assigned to make a tripwire at the top of the stairs with Abed. They’d found rope in the Mystery Machine after all, along with some fishing wire. “I’m glad you and Troy are on good terms,” he says carefully, even though he doesn’t actually want to get into the feelings talk. “You two were the best out of all of us.” He frowns up at the staircase, “You’re sure you want to do this?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” says Abed, and looks up at him. He’s standing on the first step, while Jeff is on the third. “I don’t see how this is going to work.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff shrugs, glancing back to study him. “You’re not our plan guy. Don’t you trust Troy?” Shirley had helped, too, but he’s not trying to get Abed to talk about Shirley. (Okay, so maybe he does actually want to get into the feelings talk. Sue him.)</p><p> </p><p>Abed’s expression gets carefully neutral as he says, “Yes.”</p><p><br/><br/>Jeff assumes that must be true; Abed doesn’t like lying. “So you two are friends again,” he tries as he begins to walk up the staircase. He hears Abed follow behind him; he knows Shirley and Troy are already at the top, waiting for the two of them to finish down below as they set their thing up. He really hopes this works.</p><p> </p><p>Not just because he’s the bait.</p><p> </p><p>“If you want to ask what happened,” Abed says, “you can just ask. I can tell you’re trying to get me to say something, but I can’t figure out what.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Fine. You’re not best friends again,” says Jeff. “I can tell.”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you didn’t care about us.”</p><p><br/><br/>“I’m a lawyer, Abed,” snaps Jeff. “I lie. That’s my job.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you’re not a lawyer anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Abed,” says Jeff, testing another step. It’s fine, so he continues up. “I’m just saying.”</p><p> </p><p>“You say a lot of things,” Abed replies as they continue up the stairs. “It’s how you move through life.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff turns and looks at him at that. Abed’s face is still practicedly neutral. “Are you <em> angry </em> with me?” he asks eventually, not sure what else to say; it’s not like Abed isn’t a blunt person—he is. But there’s a line between blunt and angry, even for Abed, and he’s pretty sure Abed crossed it with the lawyer question.</p><p> </p><p>Abed is silent for a long time. Eventually he says, “yes,” in that terse Abed way.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” he replies. And then, “You’re never mad at me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I am.” Abed blinks up at him, and begins to tick off scenarios on his fingers. “Whenever you tell me life is different from TV, I’m angry. I was angry when you kissed Annie even though you don’t love her, and she doesn’t love you. I’m angry whenever you say mean things to Troy and make him insecure.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t—”</p><p> </p><p>“You called me his boyfriend earlier today.”</p><p><br/><br/>Jeff frowns. “I don’t remember that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” says Abed. “That’s why I’m angry.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Abed, you can’t be mad at me for not remembering—”</p><p> </p><p>Abed crosses his arms and stops at the stairs. “Britta says that feelings aren’t logical and can’t be policed,” he says stubbornly. He kicks at some dust with his converse, not making eye contact, which isn’t unusual for Abed, but for some reason it makes Jeff’s heart cave in a little bit with guilt.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff snorts. “When do you listen to Britta, anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>“She knows more about feelings than I do,” points out Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“You have more emotion than any one of us,” says Jeff. “You just never know what to do with it.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed shrugs. “I’m not used to being so angry with people who care about me,” he says. “I always figured I’d be the one inciting anger or annoyance. Not the other way around.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, get over it. That’s family!” snaps Jeff. “Sometimes we fuck up and we don’t remember. Sometimes we’re mean because we’re taking out our unhappiness on the people around us because it’s safer than admitting we’re sad. Sometimes we’re angry with people and still love them!”</p><p> </p><p>Abed is silent for a long time. “It’s a good speech,” he says, after a while. “It really marks some much-needed character development for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re growing as a person.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I got that, I just—” Jeff sighs and drags his hands down his face in exhaustion. “What’s your point, Abed?”</p><p> </p><p>“My point is,” Abed says, “We—Mystery, Inc.—can love you until we’re blue in the face. But you’re still going to be you, and you’re still going to say those things, just like you said. So it’s good that you’re recognizing that we’re a family, but it’s not going to change the fact that I’m angry with you for something you can’t even change.”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes are big and round and sad. Jeff’s never seen them like this. They could rival Annie’s. “What?” Jeff frowns. “Are you calling me unlikeable?”</p><p><br/><br/>“Don’t get insecure on me,” Abed replies, pointing a finger at him. “This isn’t really about you.” He pauses for a moment, then echoes, “‘Sometimes we’re mean because we’re taking out our unhappiness on the people around us because it’s safer than admitting we’re sad.’ But that’s family. You said it yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand.”</p><p><br/><br/>“That’s my point. That’s why I’m angry.”</p><p><br/><br/>“But you said you were angry because I called you Troy’s boyfriend,” says Jeff. “I’m so confused.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed sighs at him, like Jeff is being stupid. Jeff squints back at him. “You called me Troy’s boyfriend as a joke, when he was getting the dust out of my hair,” he explains. “The whole group does it, but you always do it to belittle him. Us.” He holds a hand up. “I am angry about that. But I’m also angry about what it implies.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do I have to explain your own joke to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Abed, I don’t remember <em> making </em> the joke,” cries Jeff. </p><p> </p><p>“I guess I do. Alright. There’s two aspects to the joke. One part of it is that it’s impossible: for us to be in love and gay is so implausible it’s hilarious. The other part is that it implies having a friendship so close inherently emasculates us, which is particularly hurtful to Troy. Mostly, it just reminds me that it’s impossible.”</p><p> </p><p>“Abed,” snaps Jeff. “What’s impossible?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve run the simulations, Jeff. I don’t get married, and I don’t make a multibillion dollar movie. Maybe I get to solve some mysteries. But I don’t get the love of my life. I know that; real life reflects it. So does the media. When was the last time you saw a movie about friends like me and Troy? What about something <em> more </em> than me and Troy?”</p><p> </p><p>He blinks up at Jeff, and his eyes are red. Jeff’s never seen Abed cry before. “Everyone loves a good romance plot. Beauty and the Beast, 101 Dalmatians, My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music, I could go on. But I’ll always be the Peter Pan to Troy’s Wendy; he’ll always eventually grow up and fall in love with someone else.”</p><p> </p><p>“Abed—” is all he can manage, and it comes out quiet, like Abed’s punched him and knocked the wind out of him. In a way, the words are like a punch. Like all of Jeff’s quips are being served back to him, sliding down his throat. God. He feels like such an <em> ass. </em> “Are you saying you’re gay?” is what he asks, but it’s not what he wants to know.</p><p> </p><p>Abed just looks at him. “I didn’t let Troy move in with me,” he says, “because I love him too much. And I will ruin it. And I would rather ruin a friendship because he thinks I’m inconsiderate than because he thinks I’m—”</p><p> </p><p>He cuts off, and then stares at the ground again.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff searches for something to say. Crap. He’s not good at feelings, at emotions. He’s good at faking happy endings, at manipulating people, but when Abed won’t even look at him—</p><p> </p><p>“Abed,” he says, a third time. It’s all he can say.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” says Abed. “It’s sad, isn’t it? But that’s how the story goes. People like me and people like him—”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” says Jeff, and thinks about the way Troy looks at Abed, the love etched in every one of his facial expressions. And then he thinks about the way Troy talks about Abed when he’s not around, about the passion with which Troy defends him. “He asked you once, ‘you were out there and you weren’t looking for me?’ Do you remember that?”</p><p> </p><p>Abed nods, albeit a bit shakily.</p><p> </p><p>“I fucked up,” mutters Jeff, closing his eyes. “I made you think there wasn’t a possibility. I made Troy feel—bad. For the way he loves you.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed is silent. He opens his eyes, and Abed still isn’t looking at him. “That’s a love confession, Abed. Jesus Christ. That’s saying <em> I love you </em> in not so many words. Everything Troy does is a love confession for you. You two care more about each other than I do about the way I look.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not true.”</p><p> </p><p>“It might be.” Jeff swallows. “I’m a bitter old loser. I know that. I always thought I could get away without loving anyone; I didn’t think I’d need anyone. I saw the lawyer who walked out after my parents’ divorce case and I saw the only winner. The depth of my emotion is so shallow you can wade through it and never worry about sharks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good metaphor,” says Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” he replies sarcastically.</p><p> </p><p>“But you do have a lot of love, Jeff. You know that, right? You love us all so much you’d carry an extra flashlight in your car, just in case, even a year and a half later.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff swallows. “You noticed that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m an observer,” says Abed. “It’s what I do. Also, your flashlights have your initials written on the base of them.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you forgive me? For being an ass?” It comes out so weak and scared that Jeff kind of wants to punch himself. He feels so open and nervous and <em> embarrassed, </em> even though he’s two heads taller than Abed because he’s a step higher, but Abed keeps staring at him in that slow, searchingly intense way.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re family,” says Abed. “Isn’t that the same thing?”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff blinks. “No,” he says. “You can love someone and hate them.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t hate you,” says Abed. “I just needed to be angry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then be angry,” replies Jeff tiredly. “I deserve that, at least.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s almost disappointed when Abed says, “Okay.” Almost, right up until the quiet, “thank you, Jeff.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff looks at Abed for a long time. Abed’s not one for facial expressions; “Robot face,” he’d called it to Britta, once, when he’d been in a particularly nasty mood. Britta had told him to shut the fuck up, so that’s a kind of condolence, at least, in the face of the realization that Jeff is the biggest asshole on the face of the planet. But he can see that worry, and stress, and loss etched into Abed’s body language.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Jeff, and swallows again. “We should, uh. We should set up the tripwire.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yup,” says Abed, popping the ‘p.’ </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Troy glances over to Shirley as they continue to trap the study at the top of the stairs. She’s bent over and tying down the fish wire to a nai he’d placed in the floorboards. He thinks she’s humming a hymn as she works. “Shirley?” he asks quietly, causing her to look up from across the bed. “Do you think Abed is mad at me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Honey,” says Shirley, and sighs. “I’m not your mom. If you and Abed are having problems, you need to talk to him about it, not ask me.”</p><p> </p><p>Troy falls into silence at that. Eventually, he says, “I’m sorry I didn’t visit more after Andre left the second time.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He just needs to.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley looks startled as he does say it, though, and shakes her head. “I left <em> him</em>,” she replies. She sighs again and dusts her hands off, crossing the room to pull him into a hug; he goes, pliant, into her arms. “Troy. You do enough for everyone. I know you put Britta up for nearly three months.”</p><p> </p><p>“But Abed—”</p><p> </p><p>“Loves you,” she finishes for him. “You love each other.”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought that was a sin.” He’s joking, mostly.</p><p> </p><p>“The bible doesn’t actually condemn homosexuality,” she replies. “And even if it is, so is being greedy, but you don’t see me coming after Jeff Winger.” </p><p> </p><p>Troy freezes in her arms, for a moment. She doesn’t let go, continuing to hold him. “You knew I’m...?” he whispers, though the word freezes in his throat like the ice giants from the Thor comics have wrapped their fingers over Troy’s windpipe. “And you’re…?” He can’t even ask if she’s okay with it.</p><p> </p><p>“Honey,” says Shirley again. She releases him from the hug. “We all know. We’ve all seen the way that you look at Abed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why does Jeff…?” asks Troy bitterly.</p><p> </p><p>“Ask Britta,” replies Shirley. “She’s more equipped for coming-outs, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Troy laughs at that. “I already did,” he admits, wiping at his face. “But she can be so aggressively supportive.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hope never to become the object of her anger, or so help me lord,” says Shirley, giggling as well. She looks at Troy for a long time. “You know you do a lot for everyone, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Troy shrugs. “I guess,” he says, not meeting her eyes. “Everyone just needs it, you know? Like, I know your diner means a lot to you, especially since Andre didn’t like it, and it’s no trouble to fix things for you as a favor. And I know Britta can’t accept money from her parents for a reason she doesn’t talk about, and it’s fine to have her on the couch for a while. You do a lot for everyone, too.”</p><p><br/><br/>“It’s a good thing to be kind,” agrees Shirley.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Troy. He thinks about what Shirley said, about how she knew—how apparently everyone knows—because of the way he looks at Abed. He thinks about the past four years, and the way Abed has consumed him even when he wasn’t a part of his life. <em> You were out there and you weren’t looking for me? </em> he’d asked Abed, once.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, he guesses Shirley might have a point.</p><p> </p><p>He frowns at that information, shrugs—it feels inevitable, anyway, to be in love with Abed—decides to repress it, and goes back to fixing the netting they’re setting up. After a couple minutes of companionable silence, Jeff and Abed appear in the doorway. “You guys ready?” asks Jeff, leaning against the doorframe.</p><p> </p><p>“Yup,” replies Troy, looking over to Shirley. She nods.</p><p> </p><p>“Positions!” calls Abed, and they each find their hiding spots—Shirley behind Pierce’s old desk and Abed and Troy pressed up against each other in the closet. It’s one of those cool closets with the slits so you can’t see <em> in </em> but you can see <em> out, </em> which Troy thinks is awesome, but being pressed up against Abed is—</p><p> </p><p>Distracting. He settles on the word distracting.</p><p> </p><p>It’s just that Troy’s standing so that his cheek is squished into Abed’s chest, where he can kind of hear the quick rhythm of Abed’s heart, and smell the soap and butter and Special Drink on Abed, and Abed’s arms are dangling awkwardly by his sides not in the normal Abed way, but in the <em> I want to do something with them way </em> and Troy wants so badly for Abed to hug him.</p><p> </p><p>(And other things. He wants other things, but he’s trying to repress those thoughts. He just became friends with Abed again. He doesn’t need to—)</p><p> </p><p>He thinks instead about how he should not want to be hugged right now, but also, ghosts are kind of terrifying, and Abed is comforting.</p><p> </p><p>“I hate Pierce!” shouts Jeff from the inside of the room and outside the closet. He’s throwing a pretty convincing fit. He stops around and slams his fist on the desk. “I hate this stupid fucking house! It’s late, and everyone keeps <em> disappearing, </em> and I just want my check and to go home and <em> forget about the old asshole</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“Harsh,” whispers Abed beside him. Troy looks down at Abed’s hands; they’re twitching, slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” agrees Troy. He swallows. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“You stupid old man!” continues Jeff, and kicks against the wall. “Why the hell did you decide to haunt us?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Abed. He inhales shakily, and then wraps Troy into a comforting hug, squeezing him. Troy feels himself relax as Abed does it, hiding his face in Abed’s chest even though he <em> should </em> be making sure Jeff will be okay, and he hears Abed’s heartbeat pick up. <em> He loves him, </em> he thinks. He needs to stop thinking about it. “Your traps always work,” Abed adds.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cool cool cool.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Pierce, you asshole!” shouts Jeff, which is the phrase they decided on to mean <em> the stairs are creaking, so someone’s coming</em>. Troy sucks in a breath and Abed squeezes him again; he buries his face further into the soft of Abed’s sweater and focuses on the rise and fall of Abed’s chest. “I wish you would go away!” continues Jeff.</p><p><br/><br/>“Who are you calling an ass—” begins a voice, and then there’s a <em> thump </em> and a <em> “CRAP.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“NOW!” shouts Jeff, and Troy steps out of Abed’s embrace to slam open the closet door just in time to see Jeff yank down the string Troy and Shirley had placed to trigger the netting in the hallway. He sees Shirley, too, jump up from her hiding position and run out of the room with the rope.</p><p> </p><p>Abed grabs his hand as he’s leaving, and squeezes it.</p><p> </p><p>Troy pauses. He looks up at Abed; Abed’s expression is unreadable. For a moment Troy’s heart lurches and— “Let’s go,” says Abed.</p><p> </p><p>They run out.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley’s managed to get a hooded figure in black robes tied up with rope through the net which is <em> badass. </em> The hooded figure is cursing and kind of shapeless under the layers of fabric except for the tight rope binding their limbs together. Troy nods, pleased that his net worked and impressed with Shirley. Abed gives two thumbs up, mouthing <em> nice nice nice. </em></p><p> </p><p>Jeff stands beside them.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m gonna take off the net,” says Troy, “and then we’ll see who this real is.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Pierce,” says Jeff. “Let’s not even pretend.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” says Troy, not really interested in a fight, and pulls off the net, balling it and stuffing it into Abed’s arms. Shirley rights the figure so that they’re sitting up so that Troy can pull down the hood. “Everybody ready?” asks Troy, as the hooded figure groans in Shirley’s steady grip.</p><p> </p><p>They all nod.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls back the hood and—</p><p> </p><p>“Stephen Spreck?!” they all gasp in unison.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>jdsfhdjk would u believe me if i said theres lots of foreshadowing for this reveal?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. a night of fright is no delight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>They all stare down at the Dean of City Investigation Corporation, Stephen Spreck. He glares back up at them, managing to look indignant. </p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” says Jeff eventually, in a detached way that means he’s really, really surprised, “I really thought Pierce was faking. I guess the old man really is dead.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Troy. “I feel like I should be sadder knowing that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Me, too,” agrees Jeff. “Weird. He was kind of an asshole, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“Britta says grief works in weird ways,” supplies Abed, and Troy shrugs at that.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” says Jeff. “But what I don’t get is how he managed to have Pierce’s voice. We figured that with some faulty lights, a fog machine, and a robot troll, you can easily create a ghost who’s stealing our friends. But,” here he turns to Spreck, “how did you get him to respond to us if he’s dead? And also—why?”</p><p> </p><p>Spreck shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>Shirley gives him a shake. “You don’t have anything better to do than answer,” she tells him sweetly, in that kind of sweet tone that’s really just her being threatening. Troy feels nervous <em> for </em> him.</p><p> </p><p>Spreck sighs. “A megaphone and a tape recorder,” he answers eventually, rolling his eyes. “Plus the speaker hidden in the parlor. We got word from Chang that if you all didn’t show up, he’d get all the money. <em> Apparently </em> Pierce originally tasked Chang with just torturing you all a bit because he was mad at you all, but Chang learned that if he got you all to <em> leave, </em> or disappear, he could get everything. In exchange for us making him a cop again, he’d give us a portion.”</p><p> </p><p>“Christ,” says Jeff.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Stephen Spreck, looking kind of melodramatic and sad, like he didn’t just admit to trying to manipulate slash kidnap Troy and his friends. Then his expression gets indignant again as he snaps, “And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!”</p><p> </p><p>“They always say that,” mutters Abed.</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> know </em> you’re not calling me a kid,” sniffs Shirley.</p><p> </p><p>Spreck rolls his eyes again.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. But what about the image of Pierce’s ghost in that mirror?” asks Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“What image?” Spreck begins to ask, but it’s swallowed by Jeff’s insistent “Where are Britta and Annie?”</p><p> </p><p>Spreck stares at them all for a long time, as if refusing to answer. </p><p> </p><p>“Where are Britta and Annie?” repeats Jeff, somewhat darkly.</p><p> </p><p>Spreck turns up his nose.</p><p> </p><p>“I said, where are Britta and Annie?”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff’s met with a silent shrug.</p><p> </p><p>“Stephen Spreck,” snarls Jeff, stepping forward and dropping into a whisper, “If you don’t tell me where Britta and Annie is, I’m going to sue you so fucking hard your investigation corporation will go so far into debt there will be no chance of recovering. Not just fall apart. Go into fucking debt, do you hear me?”</p><p><br/><br/>“You have nothing to sue me over.” He sounds a little nervous now.</p><p> </p><p>“You tried to kidnap all of us,” Jeff replies dryly at a regular volume. “But you know,” he adds, voice quiet and angry again, “I wasn’t done. Because after I sue you until you’ve lost the fucking equivalent of the money you tried to steal from us, you’re going to go to jail. Again, because you tried to fucking kidnap us.”</p><p> </p><p>Everyone’s silent for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you understand?” asks Jeff, loud enough for everyone to hear him.</p><p> </p><p>Stephen Spreck closes his eyes and nods quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“If you don’t like your options,” Jeff says, almost cheerily, “you shouldn’t have gotten involved. So, tell us where they are, or...” He trails off, shrugging.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley steps forward and gives him another shake and scary look to punctuate Jeff’s speech, so he gulps and says with unconvincing bravado, “Whatever. I’m over this. They’re downstairs.” </p><p> </p><p>Another shake, and he snaps, “Alright, alright, I’m answering the damn question, stop shaking me! If you pull the red notebook, the wall rotates and reveals a secret panic room. When I placed the fog machine outside, Chang screamed, pulled the red book, played the tape recorder, and disappeared all by himself.” He adds, “God, this is so demeaning.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff rolls his eyes. “Asshole,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>Shirley drops Spreck and looks over to Troy, who shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of silence, where no one speaks, like no one wants to admit that they’ve solved the mystery, and all they have to do now is collect their friends, whatever fraction of Pierce’s fortune they were given, and go home. Jeff’s the one who inhales and decides to be the bad guy, the one who brings them back to reality.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess that’s it,” he says, after a pause. “We did it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we did,” says Troy, and why does he feel so — sad about it? He knows he doesn’t want to be stuck in a not-actually-but-kind-of haunted house forever, but he just doesn’t want this to end. He takes in a deep breath and tries to shake off the feeling. “Come on,” he adds. “Let’s go get our girls.”</p><p> </p><p>“And Craig,” Abed reminds him.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah,” he says. “And Craig.”</p><p> </p><p>He imagines it in a cool montage before the end credits, the way Abed might. First the music plays, and then they all rush downstairs. Jeff slings Spreck over his shoulder and places him on the floor of the parlor.</p><p> </p><p>There’s some difference to his montage and real life, though.</p><p> </p><p>In a movie, they’d all mime surprised expressions and shock when it turns out Spreck tied up Chang (he didn’t trust Chang not to come running to them when they started figuring things out), but in real life they just untie Chang as well. In a movie, they’d all be impressed by the rotating wall, which is identical on both sides except for Pierce’s portrait, where he’s smiling on one side and frowning on the other. In real life, Troy and Abed annoy everyone by turning it over and over again.</p><p> </p><p>In a movie, when they untie everyone, they celebrate and laugh. In real life, when Annie’s untied, she screeches and launches herself at Spreck to pummel him, and Abed has to scramble to grab her. Troy can tell he genuinely struggles to hold her back by his wide eyes and the way he plants his feet. Abed looks over to Britta for help, but Britta stands back and nods in approval at Annie. </p><p> </p><p>Also, Craig practically faints in Jeff’s arms, which Troy wouldn’t put into a montage, but it’s fine. After some convincing and sweet talking on Jeff’s part, they’re back on their feet and reading the will.</p><p> </p><p>(They all agree to continue with it, even though it’s nearing three or four in the morning at this point, and they’re all slumped over each other. No one wants to go home yet. No one’s ready to <em> stop </em> being Mystery, Inc.)</p><p> </p><p>Troy figures the montage would continue into the will reading when it turns out the questions aren’t that mean at all. Apparently Craig just had to say that, since Pierce had planned some ghostly shenanigans before he died, and that was supposed to be the introduction. “One day we’ll see a real ghost, buddy,” Troy whispers to Abed in real life, and they do their handshake.</p><p> </p><p>The only real shocker is this, the record-scratch moment that destroys Troy’s perfect montage sequence: Pierce leaves his house and wealth to the six of them if they continue to solve mysteries together.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a long pause, where Troy realizes he was sad because he didn’t want to stop solving mysteries with his friends, and then realizes Pierce, as old and mean and manipulative as he was, probably missed it too. He swallows, and suddenly feels actually <em> bad </em> that Pierce is dead.</p><p> </p><p>The whole room is silent and somber as they all appear to come to the same conclusion.</p><p> </p><p>It feels kind of weird to feel anything about Pierce that isn’t annoyance or anger.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s why I’m doing the will reading,” chirps Craig. “I’m actually an organizer of Greendale Investigation Co.”</p><p> </p><p>That’s about when it actually clicks for everyone that <em> Pierce just left them his house and his fortune. </em></p><p> </p><p>“What?!” cries Annie.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?” asks Britta.</p><p> </p><p>“No way,” breathes Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“Christ,” says Jeff, making that the second time he’s said that in a couple hours. Not that Troy’s keeping count, or anything.</p><p> </p><p>They all turn to Abed and Shirley, waiting for their reactions. Abed looks genuinely delighted, but Shirley—</p><p> </p><p>Shirly just looks sad. “I can’t,” she sighs, glancing at each of them as they all deflate. “I don’t have time to solve mysteries anymore. I have kids, a diner—” She cuts off, and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, you guys. I’ve missed this just as much as you have, but unfortunately, it’s just not realistic.”</p><p> </p><p>Jeff looks around the room, and shakes his head. “No,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“No?” asks Shirley.</p><p> </p><p>“No. And I know this house is kind of a fixer-upper,” continues Jeff, “and that Pierce was an asshole. I know that we weren’t friends for a year and a half. But listen.”</p><p> </p><p>He pauses, watching each of their excited faces turn towards him in interest. “I missed you guys, and most of us are flat broke. I mean, Pierce practically made it easy for us to do this. Shirley, there’s a guest house, if you want it; you don’t have to actually live in the same house as the rest of us. You could live there with your kids and use the money you make from selling your house for your diner. I know ends have been hard to make since you left Andre. Plus, five...okay, maybe two viable babysitters would be a five minute walk away. Troy, Abed, I’m sure bunk beds are out there somewhere calling your name. Annie, Britta, I know the two of you can’t afford a place by yourself. And if I’m being completely honest with you all, I’d rather be broke and solving mysteries with you losers than consulting. Which I can do on the side,” he adds, shrugging.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” he continues, “it’s possible. We all have the means to do it. The motivation. But how do we know we’ll get along?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s murmurs between them. Troy looks over to Abed, who’s lifted his hand to do calculations mid-air and is considering, and then he shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s right,” says Jeff. “We don’t. But we can try. We have had so many arguments, but we always end up here, with me giving you all a speech and you all agreeing to keep trying. That’s what family is.” He glances over to Abed, who gives him a thumbs up. “It’s just a repeated effort.” He smiles. “And I’m willing to make that effort.”</p><p><br/><br/>“How do we know we’ll keep making that effort?” asks Annie, quiet.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess we apologize for what happened when we didn’t. Watch: I’m sorry I left Mystery, Inc. after a bad run-in with my dad.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of silence as they all look around at each other. The lightbulbs are still flickering, the parlor is still dusty, it’s still cold because of the broken window, and the sun might be rising in the sky, but it’s hard to tell. Something settles, though, between them; as they hear Jeff apologize, they begin to nod and smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry I got so mean,” says Britta, standing up and smiling over at Jeff. “I was just stressed about money. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you guys.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you guys,” adds Troy as he stands with Britta. “I was so worried about being a good, manly leader I forgot the best way to lead: take care of your friends.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry I was so controlling,” continues Annie, moving to take Troy and Britta’s hands. “I got too caught up in my family falling apart that I didn’t pay enough attention to each of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry I was also so mean,” says Shirley, and Troy grabs her hand. “My relationship with Andre was ending for a second time and I wrongly blamed you all.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I’m sorry I was so manipulative,” finishes Abed. “I just wanted us to stay together.”</p><p> </p><p>“See?” says Jeff, once they’ve all finished apologizing. “We can live together. Even I’ll live with you losers, if you want me to; I know I haven’t been a great friend as of late. But I’m willing to try, and we can all be a family again. It just takes some effort.”</p><p> </p><p>They all aww and move in to hug one another, giggling as they do so. Craig wipes a tear from their eye. They stay like that for long enough that this is where a movie would end, with the song playing in the distance. Troy looks over to Abed and can tell he’s thinking it, too.</p><p> </p><p>But real life keeps going. After the hug and right as everyone’s figuring out if it’s safe to drive home or if they should figure out a way to crash in the mansion, Jeff pulls Troy out into the hallway to talk to him. “I don’t know, man,” Troy tells him as they walk out. “I’m worried Shirley’s right and the sheets will be too dusty.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care about that,” Jeff says. “We’ll figure it out. I just wanted to…” He swallows, shifts in place. “I wanted to apologize for my joke earlier.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” says Troy, shrugging. “It’s already forgotten. I know you’re just like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I mean,” Jeff sighs, hard, and crosses his arms. A second late, he uncrosses them. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay, you know? And it doesn’t make you any less ‘manly’ or whatever. I’m projecting my own insecurities onto you and Abed and that’s not fair, so I owe you an apology.”</p><p> </p><p>Troy opens his mouth, but Jeff holds up his hand. “Look. Pierce was miserable and horrible because he refused to accept that his actions hurt when he didn’t mean them to; he always thought his jokes were harmless.” Jeff swallows again. “I think that tonight has taught me that not being Pierce is about continuous, repeated effort. Mean jokes aren’t just jokes, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jeff,” Troy tells him seriously, “you aren’t ever going to be Pierce.” </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Jeff replies dryly.</p><p> </p><p>Troy smiles, says, “cool,” and gives him a thumbs up, “I’m gonna go figure out where we’re gonna crash tonight now,” he adds, and walks back into the parlor.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff stares at the space where Troy was for a couple seconds and mutters, “The Pierce thing was not the point,” like he didn’t actually really need to hear that. He exhales and leans against the wall, his head hitting the wooden paneling with a <em> thunk. </em> “Christ,” he says to himself, “I really Britta’d that apology.”</p><p> </p><p>Right on fucking cue, Britta pokes her head out of the parlor and into the hallway. “Are you still using my name to mean ‘a small mistake’?” she asks. She frowns at him, and then sighs. “You know what, it’s fine. I know you guys don’t mean it. Anyways. Come back in, Jeff, we’re voting and we don’t want to start without you, which is typical, since you’re always late.” She rolls her eyes at him. “Just because you’re a <em> man </em> doesn’t mean you can’t always make us late.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Britta,” says Jeff, but weirdly, it makes him feel better to hear her say that. It’s just that it’s so <em> normal </em> of her, a reminder that she loves him even though he’s a predictable asshole who insults her at every chance she gets.</p><p> </p><p><em> Family is a repeated effort, </em>he reminds himself. A repeated effort to be better.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he’ll stop using her name and start using ‘fucked up’ again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They discover that the locked rooms aren’t actually so dusty, like Pierce had them cleaned before the will-reading. They’re decorated, too, in just the way that each of them would like: Annie has a reading nook with a window and lots of florals; Britta has a bong on her bookshelf; Jeff has a walk-in closet; Abed has a bunch of first-edition film posters that should have cost a fortune; Shirley’s is filled with Christian memorabilia; and Troy’s room is almost exactly the same as it was when he lived with Pierce.</p><p> </p><p>It’s kind of a shock, that Pierce had rooms made up and cleaned and decorated for each of them.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t tell whether or not I should be grateful or weirded out or mad knowing he wanted to torture us first,” Annie says, cocking her head.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” says Troy, but he falls asleep in his room anyway. </p><p> </p><p>He must sleep pretty soundly, because next thing he knows there’s sunlight shining in through the curtains and Abed is knocking on his door. He slept in the room next to Troy’s. “Sesame Street is on soon and Pierce’s TV surprisingly works,” he says, opening it before Troy can say anything. Troy blinks at him; Abed’s hair is a mess as he wipes the sleep from his eyes. Troy stretches and tugs on his pyjama shirt.</p><p> </p><p>“Bert and Ernie?” he asks, drowsily. He must have slept pretty late, if Sesame Street is on.</p><p> </p><p>Abed nods.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” says Troy, and kicks off his blankets. “But I’m sleepy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” says Abed, looking down at him. “But I thought you said we should watch it together.”</p><p> </p><p>“We should,” mumbles Troy into his pillow. “But—”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re sleepy,” Abed says for him, fondly. He moves over to sit next to Troy and onto the bed. “You should get up, though. When you’re awake you’ll be disappointed that sleepy Troy made you miss out on Sesame Street.” He tries to tug on Troy’s arm, but Troy flops down onto the mattress and groans.</p><p> </p><p>“Five more minutes?” asks Troy.</p><p> </p><p>Abed pauses, as if considering. “Sure,” he says, eventually. “Five more minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cuddle?” he mumbles.</p><p> </p><p>Abed sighs, and moves into bed with Troy. Troy immediately curls up into Abed’s chest with a happy noise; they haven’t done this in <em> forever </em> and Troy totally forgot how awesome it was. “Cool,” says Troy, beginning to drift off already. Abed’s just so comfortable. “I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed freezes at that. He looks down at Troy; Troy looks up and blinks innocently at him. Abed’s face is the record-scratch face, the I-trust-my-memory-but-did-that-really-just-happen face. Troy doesn’t even realize why Abed’s looking at him like that until he rewinds and realizes — Oh.</p><p> </p><p>He just told Abed he loves him.</p><p> </p><p>He jolts up, suddenly awake. “Abed,” he says, “I, uh—”</p><p> </p><p>“You love me?” Abed’s voice is quiet, and—afraid?</p><p> </p><p>Troy peers closer at Abed, and oh. Abed’s not just afraid, he’s terrified. Troy can tell because Abed’s got real robot face on, the kind of expression he wears when he doesn’t know how to react to anything. The kind of expression Abed wears when something truly unexpected happens on the rare occasion Troy genuinely surprises him.</p><p> </p><p>Troy relaxes and shrugs. “Yeah, man,” he says softly. “You’re the coolest person I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you’re—” Abed frowns, holding up his pointer finger. Troy’s never seen Abed at a loss for words before. “You’re mad about not living with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re living together now,” he points out. “Also, I realized that Annie really needed some semblance of family and support. I shouldn’t have taken it so seriously.”</p><p> </p><p>Abed blinks. “But I wasn’t nice to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re being nice now,” says Troy.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. But—” Here he pauses, and then says, in a monotone, “There isn’t anyone on TV like us.” That, Troy knows, is <em> but I didn’t think it was ever possible—people like us don’t get that kind of happy ending </em> in Abed. </p><p> </p><p>Troy considers this for a moment. “Bert and Ernie,” he suggests.</p><p> </p><p>“But they’re not in love.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t know that,” says Troy, and knocks Abed with his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>Abed smiles at that. He thinks for a little while, and Troy lies back down to place his head on Abed’s chest, kicking the blanket down to his feet so he doesn’t get too warm. “Queer coding,” Abed mutters, mostly to himself, and Troy hums. “You’re right. I should have thought about queer coding.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’re we coating?” asks Troy, drawing his eyebrows together, but Abed shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Queer coding is when a character or characters are portrayed as LGBT through stereotypes or subtext,” explains Abed, and Troy noda against Abed’s chest. He’s always liked how Abed explains these things to him: clearly, but not dumbing anything down. “Maybe Bert and Ernie are queer coded; when we watch it, I’ll let you know what I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” says Troy, thoughtfully. “So I should get up then.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Yeah,” says Abed. “Also, Annie is making pancakes, even though it’s 2 P.M.”</p><p> </p><p>"Awesome," breathes Troy, brightening up at the thought of pancake. He catches Abed watching him smile and pauses.</p><p> </p><p>Abed tilts his head and says, “I didn’t consider this possibility.”</p><p> </p><p>“What possibility? Pancakes?”</p><p> </p><p>“The possibility where you love me back,” Abed replies, but his voice isn’t so certain and he looks—stressed, maybe? It’s hard to tell, especially since Troy is looking up at him at a kind of weird angle. Troy sits up, and so does Abed, but Abed does it more absentmindedly, the way he mirrors people’s behavior when he’s too busy thinking to deal with coming up with his own body language. “I thought I wasn’t going to get a happy ending,” he says, mostly to himself. </p><p> </p><p>Troy frowns over at him. “I don’t think there’s a possibility where I don’t love you,” he admits. </p><p> </p><p>Abed’s eyes refocus on Troy as he’s drawn back into the present. He pauses, just for a moment, like he’s memorizing the scene and replaying it through different camera angles, and then he leans in to give him a kiss.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>November, 1969. Twenty minutes outside Coolsville, Ohio.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff knocks gently on the door to Abed’s room. He’s nervous, Christ. Jeff Winger has never been this nervous about giving a gift to a friend. Then again, it’s taken thirty-odd years for Jeff Winger to get real friends, so maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity that makes him so skittish. </p><p> </p><p>“Come in,” calls Abed from the inside of his room, and Jeff slowly opens the door.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” he begins, without really looking at Abed, because he’ll lose his nerve if he does. He glances over, though, sees Abed sitting up on his bed beside a tangle of sheets and blankets and then shifts his gaze to the window. “I thought about that conversation we had, when we were setting up a trap for Stephen. About how you, uh, there aren’t pieces of media there that reflect you and Troy, so I, uh.”</p><p> </p><p>He swallows. “I talked to Mariah, and I bought you some comics.” He holds them out awkwardly, mechanically. “They’re about this family of trolls...it’s called Moomin, or something, I don’t know. The main character is Moomintroll. And he has this best friend who leaves every winter while Moomintroll hibernates, and comes back in the Spring. And they’re both guys. And they love each other.” He coughs into his hand, mostly to hide his creeping blush. “And, uh, there’s a lot of subtext to indicate they’re in love, not just, like. Good friends.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Huh,” says Abed, getting off his bed and approaching Jeff. “Troy suggested Bert and Ernie.” He takes the comics and flips through them. “Thanks. I know being vulnerable is hard for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I, uh. I wanted to prove to you that this is something you can change,” says Jeff. “I think you should tell him.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Tell me what?” says the mass of blankets, moving slightly and sitting up. It’s Troy.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff freezes. And then—</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell, Abed?!” shouts Jeff, pointing at Troy, who blinks sleepily at Jeff. He rubs at his eyes, like he’s been napping in Abed’s bed, and then he waves.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff glares at Abed, heat rising in his cheeks. Yup, he’s definitely blushing now. Christ. “You should have told me that he was here!”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you saw him. It’s not like he was hiding. Plus, I didn’t know what you were going to say,” he replies, neutrally. </p><p> </p><p>Jeff is silent for a moment. Technically, this is his fault. He should have looked closer at Abed’s bed. He should have—</p><p> </p><p>“Also,” continues Abed, “I told him a couple weeks ago. Or, more specifically, he confessed to me and then I confessed to him. Actually, it was a little more complicated than that, but your face is making an expression I can’t figure out. So, unless you care about the order—which I suspect you don’t—my point is: we’re dating.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Yeah, man,” says Troy, and gives him some bleary-eyed thumbs up. Abed moves over to the bed so they can do their handshake. “Thanks for that speech that other night, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“What,” says Jeff.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad you’re cool with it, though,” says Abed. “We were kind of nervous about telling the group. Annie’s already figured it out, naturally. And so has Shirley, but she just said, ‘Oh, that’s nice’ when she did figure it out, so we don’t think it’s a big deal. I don’t think Britta has yet, despite increasingly obvious hints. “</p><p> </p><p>“What.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for the comics,” says Abed, instead of clarifying. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” agrees Troy. Then he turns his attention to Abed and it’s almost like Jeff isn’t there; Troy looks at Abed like Abed personally coordinated the moon landing. How Britta hasn’t figured it out yet, Jeff’s not sure. How <em> Abed </em> didn’t figure it out— “Abed,” says Troy, “am I Moomintroll or Snufkin?”</p><p> </p><p>Abed cocks his head, and grabs the comics, which Jeff realizes he’s still holding out, comically frozen in place. He relaxes and tries to look normal.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s find out,” Abed says to Troy as he walks back to the bed. They do their handshake again. He looks at Jeff, just for a moment, and nods—a kind of thank you, Jeff assumes—and then he crawls over the cover to sit next to Troy. They open the comic book and sit shoulder-to-shoulder as they read. Troy leans gently into Abed, his hand snaking around Abed’s waist. Abed relaxes into it, only moving to turn the page.</p><p> </p><p>Jeff suddenly gets the overwhelming feeling he’s intruding, so he turns to go.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Jeff?” </p><p> </p><p>He pauses, and glances over at Abed, who’s looked up again to inspect Jeff with his calculating eyes. “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a good friend. Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re welcome,” says Jeff, smiling a bit, and shuts Abed’s door.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ahhhh and thats a wrap folks!! this was lots of fun to write!!</p><p>i did want to talk abt how each character maps onto scooby doo bc. i have thought way too much abt this in part because theres 5 characters in scooby doo and 6 members of the study group, excluding pierce (who’s dead. supposedly). eventually, i realized most members have a superficial role &amp; an actual role, so, i apologize for meta.<br/>- jeff is superficially fred, in that he seems like the leader. but really, he’s central to the group &amp; the ‘heart’ of it, but he doesn’t actually do anything, so he’s actually scooby. that’s why the fic doesn’t follow him leading so much as accepting the role as the group’s heart &amp; glue.<br/>- troy is superficially daphne, in that he seems like he’s just eye candy with nothing there, but really he’s fred: he actually leads the group &amp; keeps them together. also, he can make traps. that’s why troy starts out not taken seriously &amp; laughed at &amp; ends by helping lead the group around the house &amp; to the resources they need<br/>- abed is superficially velma, in that he’s clever, but he’s more head-in-the-clouds and danger prone with an overwhelming knowledge of pop culture, so daphne. that’s why abed seems like he can help solve the case, but really acts as a magnet for danger.<br/>- shirley on the surface also seems like fred; she keeps the group together, seems like a ‘leader’ in that she’s a parent, but she’s not an actual leader. she’s much better at finding clues, so, she’s a secondary velma. that’s why, as the fic progresses, shirley is so key in helping them catch the ‘ghost’.<br/>- britta is shaggy, superficially &amp; not. annie is velma, superficially &amp; not. they’re the outliers i guess.</p><p>anyways. thanks for reading!!! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading!! if you enjoyed it, feel free to lmk at figbian on tumblr/twt or leave a comment &lt;3</p><p>the title comes from <a href="https://www.foundationforcontemporaryarts.org/recipients/anne-boyer">this poem</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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